


lightning strikes the heart

by ArgentLives



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Airplanes, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Baking, Competition, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Disney World & Disneyland, Doctors & Physicians, Domestic Fluff, Drift Compatibility, Drunken Flirting, Earth-2, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/M, Fireworks, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fix-It, Flirting, Fluff, Glasses, High School, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Identity Reveal, Implied Sexual Content, Interviews, Kid Fic, Kissing, Lightning - Freeform, Love Confessions, Mario Kart, Marriage Proposal, Massage, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, New Year's Eve, Obliviousness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Prom, Revelations, Role Reversal, Romance, Spin the Bottle, Teenagers, Thunderstorms, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Valentine's Day, Weddings, hand holding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 51,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentLives/pseuds/ArgentLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated one-shots revolving around Iris and Barry's relationship based on prompts I've gotten over the years</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Window to the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> some of these are suuuuuuuper old and i'm not really going back to edit them, so apologies for the possibly rough writing on the earlier ones
> 
> also, i'm mostly posting these in order, so the first chapters will be the oldest stuff, and then the newer stuff will be at the end
> 
> also also, the tags aren't really in order; and i'll add stuff as it comes to mind and as I post new things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: eyes

In the end, it’s his eyes that give him away.

Iris knows those eyes. She’s seen them happy and sad and angry, playful and mischievous and scared.

She’s seen them lit up with excitement, she’s seen them clouded with boredom, she’s seen them hooded with sadness, she’s seen them heavy with exhaustion. She knows how they look with tears spilling over.

She’s seen them bloodshot and sleepy after being woken up at seven in the morning for school, and she’s seen how they look when suddenly shrouded in light after spending hours and hours sitting in the dark with her, marathoning the Lord of the Rings trilogy, strained and pupils dilated but so full of delight.

She’s seen laughter in them and she’s seen love, she’s seen them tender and open, and once upon a time, when they were kids and he lost everything, she’d seen them hard and guarded. 

She’s seen them from far away and she’s seen them up close, and she’s stared into them time and time again (her record is three minutes and fifteen seconds, she remembers, from one of their many impromptu staring contests in fifth grade).

She’s looked into them, searching, always to find that unconditional love and support and admiration reflected back at her, those raw emotions she’s never quite seen in exactly the same way anywhere else. 

She’s seen them in just about every way. She’s known them nearly all her life. 

So when The Flash scoops her up and out of the line of danger, when he’s speeding away with her in his arms and the wind is whipping against her face and all the air feels like it’s left her lungs, when she catches a glimpse of his face in the few seconds that he forgets to blur it and her gaze is drawn to those familiarly long eyelashes and for half-a-second that feels more like a lifetime her eyes lock with his, she knows.

She sees guilt, and worry, and determination, and anger, and fear, and so, so much love—she sees what’s familiar. She sees _Barry_.


	2. Drift Compatible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Pacific Rim/Drift Compatible AU situation

He’s known he wanted to fight kaijus since he was eleven, when they destroyed his home and he’d been forced to watch as his parents were killed right in front of him. 

He doesn’t know what he would’ve done, or where he would be today—hell, if he’d even be _alive_ today—, if it hadn’t been for Joe West. The man who had saved him from the very threat that had killed his parents, and had taken him in when he’d had nowhere else to go, raised him alongside his daughter, Iris.

_Iris._

His best friend, his partner in crime, his co-pilot…and his long-time crush. The girl he’s loved nearly all his life.

They’d trained together in secret, when Joe had made it vehemently clear that he wouldn’t allow them to join the PPDC. As with everything else, they’d sworn they would go through with this together, that they’d embark on the process of becoming Jaeger pilots side-by-side.

The first time they’d sparred, it had been clear that they’d possessed a special rhythm all their own. They were constantly in sync, they mirrored each other’s movements perfectly , and even though Iris managed to get the best of him more than once, they just _worked_ together.

 _‘We’re totally drift compatible, Bar,’_ Iris had panted, out of breath. Her grin had been wide and her eyes had been dancing with excitement as she’d straddled him—knocked him to the ground only after he’d managed to disarm her.

She’d been so, _so_ close, and it had been really hard to keep his voice even. Almost impossible to remain calm as he’d forced a laugh and responded, _‘Well, duh.’_

They’d fought tooth and nail to get where they are now, to finally convince Joe that there was nothing he could do to stop them, no matter how much he warned them how dangerous it was. They were twenty-five now. They made their own decisions.

So right now, Barry is thrilled, eager, determined… and ridiculously nervous. Because he’s currently standing next to Iris in their Jaeger (which Iris had happily dubbed the _The Flash_ as a homage to their mutual quick reflexes), and after all their extensive training, they’re about to go into the field for the first time. They put on their gear, connect to their machine, and then put on the helmets that will connect them to each other.

Unfortunately for him, he remembers a second too late that they’ll be sharing memories. That Iris will be given a window right into his mind, to his most private thoughts and feelings.

And of course, as soon as he remembers this, he starts remembering everything he precisely _doesn’t_ want Iris to see.

He squeezes his eyes shut and wills the images away, but they come anyway. Of course they do.

His parents, being ripped apart in front of his eyes. His home being destroyed as he’d stood by and watched, helpless. His feelings of hopelessness, of absolute, utter terror and despair before Joe had saved his life. And his love for her. Every single little fucking thing he feels when he sees her smile, when she laughs, when she does just about anything. This unavoidable, unshakable, damning love of his.

“Barry…” Iris’s voice forces his eyes open, and from the way she’s looking at him, he knows that she knows. That she’s just seen everything he’d been seeing.

Barry shakes his head, not at all prepared to have this conversation. Not right now, just as they’re about to take this Jaeger out into the heat of the action for the first time.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Iris asks, and Barry tells himself he’s imagining the way her voice breaks.

“I—I wanted to. But I couldn’t. I knew it would make things awkward. It’ll throw everything we’ve worked so hard for off, you know? Because you don’t…I was I was afraid you wouldn’t—”

“It won’t throw us off, Bar. It won’t mess up our rhythm,” Iris looks at him through the little window of her helmet, her tone firm, her eyes sincere.

“How can you say that? You know that this changes things between us. I’ve made it weird, I’ve messed everything up—how can you just go on pretending like nothing is different? How are you not thrown off by this?” he groans, desperate for her to understand.

Because they can’t be drift compatible, can’t fight kaijus together, can’t possibly make this work if they’ll be so awkward they won’t even be able to look each other in the eye. At least not yet. She’ll probably want distance from him, time to work things out, to move past it. And he’ll need time to move on from his unrequited feelings, as he’s known he always would. They’ll be okay, but with time.

He’s expecting her to give him a pitying look, to agree, to see the flaw in her logic. He’s expecting a lot of things, but he’s definitely not expecting her to roll her eyes. Or to smile.

“ _Because_ , you idiot,” she says slowly, deliberately, as though she’s explaining something incredibly obvious to a very small child, “did you ever stop to consider that maybe I love you, too?”


	3. Disney World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "It’s too late, Iris. You can’t protect me."

“It’s too late, Iris. You can’t protect me,” Barry says mournfully, voice grave, expression serious.

“Barry, please don’t do this,” she pleads, hanging on to his arm, trying to force him to a stop.

Suddenly there’s an added pressure on his legs, and he looks down to see the twins hanging on to either one, hugging him tight. 

“Don’t do it, daddy!” they chant in unison, and Iris nods at him, giving him a somber look.

He shakes his head again, heaving a dramatic sigh, and presses the back of his hand to his forehead.

“I’ve got no choice. Tell my family I love them!”

Iris rolls her eyes at him.

“Barry, we _are_ your family,” she laughs, and Barry holds up a finger to shush her.

"Iris, you are ruining the atmosphere we’ve created here! And you are vastly underestimating the seriousness of this situation.”

He hears a giggle come from down below and notices Dawn stifling her laughter behind a pudgy little hand.

“And you too, little lady! I swear, Iris, look what you’ve started. This could be a life or death situation, and you’re _laughing_.”

"Okay, okay, we get it. We’re all serious here,” she says, schooling her features, and he nods approvingly, freeing himself from Iris’s grasp and extracting his legs from Don and Dawn’s clutches.

He gives them a mock salute, and plunges in to the huge mass of people around them, immediately losing sight of them in the crowd.

“Is Daddy really gonna die?” Don sniffles tearfully, and Iris lifts him into her arms, rubbing his back consolingly.

“Awww, baby, no. He’s just going to find a place to eat for us while we wait here. There’s just a lot of people to go through—Disney is a scary place in the summer.”

“Oh,” Don hiccups, and Dawn tugs at Iris’s dress.

“Mommy, can we go see the princesses while we wait?” she asks, eyes wide and excited.

“Not yet, sweetie. Let’s wait till you’re dad comes back. He’ll be disappointed if he finds out we went to see them without him.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that Barry emerges from the crowd, looking completely disheveled, and scoops the twins into his arms.

“I have returned from war!” he announces triumphantly, giving Iris a quick peck on lips, “and I found the perfect place to eat.”

“But daaaaaaddy,” Dawn whines, “I wanna see the princesses first!”

Barry pinches her cheek and laughs, shooting Iris a wink.

“Well, you’re in luck sweetheart, because we’re eating at Cinderella’s castle. _With_ the princesses.”

The kids squeal and clap their hands excitedly, and Iris gives him a thumbs up, mouthing the word _‘Nice’._

"Well, you owe me,” he says, placing the kids back down on the ground and slipping an arm around her waist, “I _did_ risk my life for this.”

She leans her head against his shoulder and sighs happily, never getting tired of this.

"Barry, you are _such_ a dork.”


	4. Real Smooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "It would have been a lot more romantic if you de-thorned the rose before you put it in your mouth…" and "I’ve got the lube and strawberries, we’re all set!"

“Barry, you really need to relax. Iris is your best friend—I don’t know what’s got you so stressed about this. You’ve probably embarrassed yourself in front of her plenty of times before. If tonight goes horribly wrong, I’m sure she’ll still love you.”

Barry is in S.T.A.R. Labs, pacing back and forth, wringing his hands together and forcibly chewing on his lip. Caitlin wants to tell him to stop before he rips the skin off, more-so for Iris’s benefit than anything, but she doesn’t think he’ll listen.

“Yeah, but that’s not the _point_ , Caitlin. This is my first Valentine’s Day with Iris as my best friend _and_ my girlfriend. I just—I want it to be special. And I kind of want her to be impressed, too.”

Caitlin rolls her eyes.

“You’ll be _fine_. Besides, if you really want it to be good, don’t you think you should be home getting ready, rather than here putting it off because you’re afraid?”

Barry opens his mouth to respond, but just then Cisco barges into the room, toting a bag full of something that smells sweet in his hand.

"Alright, Cait, I’ve got the lube and strawberries—we’re all set!” he says by way of announcing his presence, and it’s only after he notices Caitlin’s horrified expression that he realizes Barry is still in the room, too.

“Oh, Barry, hey—you’re, um, you’re here late. I thought, uh, I thought you already left…” he laughs, trying to pass it off as casual, but he looks like he wants to crawl in a hole and never come out.

Barry backs away from Caitlin and Cisco slowly, gaze flickering back and forth between the two of them.

“I, uh, yeah, I was just—I was just leaving. You guys, um. You guys have fun with that,” he coughs uncomfortably, and then he’s gone in a burst of speed before either of them can say another word.

And then he’s left with no other choice but to put his nervousness aside and start putting his plans for the night into effect. 

He stops at his apartment to shower, change, and grab the bouquet of roses he’d bought for Iris earlier before heading over to her work to pick her up. When he walks into the building she’s sitting at her desk, deeply absorbed whatever she’s doing, and she doesn’t notice him come in.

As he makes his way over to her he tries to channel the smoothness and confidence of all the male leads in every romantic movie he can think of, and suddenly a brilliant idea pops into his head. He grins excitedly. He’s going to look _so_ _cool—_ Iris will be breathless.

He leans against her desk and pulls one of the roses out of the bouquet, sticking in his mouth, holding the stem between his teeth. He’s just about to say something really suave to get her attention, like _‘Fancy meeting you here, Miss West’_ , but suddenly there’s something painful poking at his tongue and cutting into his lips.

He spits the rose out just as Iris looks up from her work, and when he touches a finger to his lip it comes away bloody.

“Owww,” he whines, and Iris shakes her head at him. 

She’s very clearly trying not to laugh as she takes the bouquet from him and rests a hand on his chest, doing her best to appear sympathetic.

“You know, it would have been a lot more romantic if you had de-thorned the rose _before_ you put it in your mouth,” she sighs, before standing on her tippy-toes to kiss away the cuts on his lips. 

He’s not sure if it’s just his super-healing at work or if it’s just her touch, but the pain instantly ebbs and he feels a happy, cooling sort of relief settle over him.

“And you know,” Iris says without pulling away, and he feels her lips curl into smile against his own, “It’s a good thing you heal fast, Barr. I’m going to need you to put that mouth to good use later.”

Barry can’t even formulate a proper response. It’s like his mind is suddenly short circuiting, and Iris can obviously feel the way his heartbeat speeds up against her fingertips, because she smirks at him and presses on.

"You can do that _amazing_ thing you do with your tongue—I’d hate for that to go to waste.”

Barry is seriously starting to wonder whether they even have to go out to dinner after all, or if they could just head back to his apartment and skip right to the ‘later’ part…but then he remembers how much he’d pestered Oliver about using his connections to get them a reservation at a _really_ nice place that he probably never could’ve hoped to step foot in otherwise, and he decides against it. He’d probably end up with another arrow in his back if he just decided not to show up.

"Dinner first?” he chokes out, his voice about three octaves too high.

Iris pats him on the cheek and laughs affectionately. That’s her Barry, alright.

“Dinner first,” she agrees, and then she gives him a not-so-subtle wink. “We’ll save the fun stuff for later.”


	5. Time Travel Fix-It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 1) Give me a pairing: Iris and Barry 2) Give me an AU setting: Timetraveling! 3) I will write you a three-sentence drabble fic.

It happens as he’s racing home from Caitlin’s, kicking himself for the things he’s said, feeling very unlike himself. One moment he’s running down the street, pushing himself as hard as he can to try to clear his head and absolve his guilty conscience, surrounded by darkness, and the next second he’s suddenly being bathed in sunlight.

He skids to a stop, blinking, the sudden brightness hurting his eyes. He takes in his surroundings with panic steadily building in his chest. Panic bordering on wonder bordering on shock, because someway, somehow, it’s quite obviously not nighttime anymore.

He’s just on the brink of majorly freaking out when his phone rings, and he takes it out of his pocketwith fumbling fingers. He can’t seem to find his voice, still stuck in stunned silence, can’t even manage a hello when he taps the button to answer it. In the end the person on the other line speaks first.

“Barry, where are you? You were supposed to meet us at Iron Heights fifteen minutes ago. After your ‘quick’ lunch break, remember?” Joe’s voice is tired and unsurprised, if a little annoyed.

Barry feels like he’s been slapped across the face with deja-vu, and not just because this isn’t the first time Joe has scolded him for being late to work, or because lateness is kind of a perpetual, very familiar thing for him.

No—it’s that he remembers getting this phone call before. This _exact_ phone call, those _exact_ words, earlier this very morning. And now he’s getting it again. 

His brain is still struggling to process this information, to figure out what the hell is going on, so all he can think to say to Joe in response is a very elegant _‘um’_.

He can hear Joe’s sigh through the phone, can practically picture him rubbing a tired hand down his face at Barry’s tardiness.

“Just hurry up, okay?” Joe grunts, “it’s like this guy managed to just disappear, and we can’t find anything in his cell. We need you here to look everything over.”

Barry gives another noncommittal _‘um’_ that Joe seems to take as understanding, because the call ends shortly after. Work is the last place Barry wants to be right now. He needs to go to S.T.A.R. Labs, try to make sense of what’s happening, brainstorm with Cisco and Caitlin and Wells as to how he could have managed this. Super speed he could handle. Metahumans he could handle. But time travel? That was a whole different ballgame.

And that’s what this was, right? Because as his phone buzzes in his hand again and he reads an all-too-familiar text from Iris— _‘i have a work break coming up. meet for coffee at Jitters later? :)_ _’—_ one that he knows he’s seen word-for-word before, he’s growing more and more certain that he is, in fact, repeating this morning.

He forces himself to go to the crime scene at Iron Heights, only managing to drag himself there and act like nothing’s wrong by fostering the knowledge that at least he’ll get to see is dad without any barrier between them again. 

As he’s talking with Joe, explaining the evidence he’s found and pretending as if he doesn’t already know what it means, it suddenly hits him that this is a blessing in disguise. He’s been given a second chance, a beautiful opportunity to get this day right, to rethink his behavior.

And so he doesn’t tell anyone about this unusual occurrence. Instead he meets Iris at Jitters after work, just like they’d planned. Tells her he’s always there for her, no matter what. Assures her that if she needs help finding a story to write about, he’d be glad to help, or just be there for support, because she’s his best friend and that’s what best friends are for. This time, he means it. This time, he doesn’t expect anything in return.

This time he calls before he shows up unannounced, to ask if she wants to work on her article instead of barging in on her and Eddie, and when she tells him she’s busy he tells her okay, to have fun, and doesn’t give it a second thought. 

He doesn’t pout, or act as though she’s wronged him when she’s just going about her life. He knows it’d be wrong to expect her to drop what she’s doing just because of his offer, and that he’s not obligated to her affections for wanting to be there for her if she needs him, just as she’s always been there for him.

When he calls Caitlin to go out to the bar, this time he makes sure to drag Cisco along, too, wondering why he hadn’t thought to invite him the first time around, and together the three of them have a blast. And when the topic of his love life comes up, when they’re talking about moving on, he acknowledges that just because he’s been a good friend to Iris doesn’t mean he’s entitled to anything, that if he only ever was there for her because he expected her to return his feelings one of these days, instead of being there for her simply because they were _best friends_ , than he’d be acting like kind of a dick, after all. Caitlin nods in approval.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris freezes as she’s twirling spaghetti around her fork, smiling politely at something Eddie’s mom has just said. She doesn’t know why, but her ears are burning as an enormous sense of relief, of contentment, suddenly washes over her. She stares off into space and smiles to herself, absentmindedly nodding her head in approval. And all is right with the world again.


	6. Doctors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: westallen as doctors

“Hey, buddy, are you okay?” Iris calls out tentatively, approaching a guy who’s slumped against the wall, head in his hands. 

He’s in a pretty deserted hallway, and Iris gets the feeling he doesn’t want to be seen, but she also can’t just leave him there, especially because at first she mistakes him for a patient. It’s an understandable mistake—she’s new here, and she doesn’t yet recognize a lot of her co-workers. It’s not until she gets closer and catches sight of his white lab coat that she realizes he must work here, too.

It’s like he’s off in his own little world. He doesn’t look up at the sound of her shoes clicking against the tile floor, doesn’t show even the slightest indication that he’s heard her question. His face remains buried in his hands, and he doesn’t even notice when she comes to a stop in front of him, eyebrows knitted in concern, until she gently taps him on the shoulder. His shoulders are shaking, and she realizes with a start that he’s crying.

Her touch finally captures his attention, and he’s forced to look up at her, startled and embarrassed, face blotchy and red, tears stuck in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” she repeats, this time more firmly, with steadily growing concern.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Uh, I didn’t see you there, I didn’t think anyone was around. I came here to get away, and…and…” he looks at her helplessly, trying to explain and only succeeding in looking absolutely miserable.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not judging. But seriously, you don’t seem okay. I won’t press you, but if you need someone to talk to…” she spreads her arms out, vaguely gesturing to herself, to let him know that she’s there if he needs her.  

He starts to shake his head, but something about the way she’s looking at him, so genuinely concerned, seems to change his mind.

“I was just—we were performing an emergency surgery and—,” he takes a deep, shaky breath, attempting to collect himself, “and the patient died on the table, we couldn’t…I couldn’t save her.”

His voice breaks towards the end, and Iris immediately feels a rush of sympathy for him. She knows exactly how he feels; death happens in a job like this, but despite everything she’s been told, it never seems to get any easier. 

It takes a while to move past the guilt, the feeling of having someone’s blood on your hands—and not just in the literal sense. She ventures that this guy probably feels much the same.

She covers his hand with hers and can feel it shaking underneath her fingertips. She’s on break, so she figures it can’t hurt to keep the poor guy company while he tries to calm himself down. She stays with him until she’s sure his hands are steady again, talking about anything and everything to distract him, listening with interest to his input in the conversation, even if it is short and choppy.

When he’s finally able to breath evenly, when he can speak without getting too choked up, he gives her a heart-felt _‘Thank you’_ and manages a smile for her. She notes that it’s a really good look on him.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around then, Dr. Allen,” she says, reading the name on his coat just as she’s getting ready to leave, and hoping that she’s right. She could use a few friends here.

“I guess so, Dr. West,” he grins back at her, gaze traveling to the name on her coat, his eyes still somewhat puffy and his smile still a little crooked but notably less miserable than the state that Iris had found him in.

She gives him one last reassuring pat on the shoulder, before turning away, preparing herself to get back to work, confident that if all else fails, if nothing else good happens her first week working here, at least she’s made a new friend. 


	7. Two Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: two roads

_“’Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth…’_

…Barry, are you even listening to me?” Iris sighs as she lifts her gaze from the paper she’s reading from and catches a glimpse of his glassy-eyed, hundred-yard stare.

“Huh?” is the brilliant response she receives, and she watches in equal parts amusement and exasperation as he blinks at her in confusion.

She groans and sets the paper down, clasps Barry’s shoulders and glares at him until she’s sure she has his full attention.

“Barry. Need I remind you that _you_ were the one who came knocking on _my_ door, begging me to proofread your analysis paper for you. The least you could do is pay attention.”

She drops a hand from his shoulder to pick up the paper in question again and wave it angrily in front of his face.

Barry has the decency to look at least a little ashamed, but only for a brief moment before he’s holding his hands up and shaking his head.

“Okay, yeah, but in my defense, I didn’t know you were going to do all… _this_ ,” he says, gesturing wildly to the paper looking sad and flimsy in Iris’s clutches, as if to indicate whatever _‘this’_ is. “I just meant I wanted you to read it over for like, grammatical errors and whatnot. And make small edits and stuff. I didn’t expect you to completely tear it to shreds and insist on making me sit through a freaking _oral reading_ of the stupid poem. I’ve had enough of that thing for a lifetime.”

Iris scowls at him, rolls the paper up between her fingers and swats him over the head with it before smoothing it out in front of her again.

"Dude. You can’t seriously tell me you were planning on turning this in,” she says, crinkling her nose at it in distaste. “And don’t you question my methods, Barry Allen. I always feel like you get the most out of poetry when you read it out loud. Trust me—judging by what you have so far, you clearly haven’t gotten enough.”

Barry sticks his tongue out at her, jokingly, although he can’t help but feel a little bit offended, even though he knows she’s just stating the truth. Normally he admires her brutal honesty, but right now he just wants to be done with this stupid assignment ASAP, and she’s not helping.

“Well _excuse_ me for not being a literary genius like you, Iris. And I thought the whole point of this stuff was that there’s not supposed to be one single right way to interpret it. So I’m exercising my creative license, aren’t I?” he whines.

Iris rolls her eyes at him. “Barry, your entire paper is about the science behind rational decision making and the gradual wearing down of man-made paths in natural environments. You didn’t interpret anything—you were just stating facts. And you _completely_ missed the point of the assignment.”

Barry pouts at her, but of course he knows she’s right. English is her thing, science is his. It’s usually a good balance—he helps her with science-y stuff she doesn’t get, she helps him with papers like these. They’ve worked out a system, well-oiled and perfectly tuned just like everything else when it comes to the two of them.

Only it just so happens that the system generally doesn’t work quite as well when he’s been so preoccupied with more important things (although Iris of course would scold him and insist that this is just as important) that he’s waited until the day before the paper is due to ask her for help. He should have known she wouldn’t let him off easy.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll listen to you. But can we please skip the reading out loud thing? Please? It’s hurting my brain.”

Iris raises an eyebrow at him, and he can already see the answer written plainly in her eyes, sparkling with mischief.

Sure enough, she brings the paper up close to her face, squints at it, and begins reading the poem excerpt out loud again. Well, not reading, actually. More like shouting it at the top of her lungs. 

He cringes and curses at the evil grin on her face as she takes in his pain, and he lunges to snatch the paper away from her.

She laughs and dodges his attack, leaning safely out of the way, which unfortunately ends with him losing his balance and toppling off his chair. It’s only embarrassing until Iris, doubled over with laughter, ends up laughing so hard that she falls out of her chair, too. 

They lay on the floor together, laughing at themselves and at each other until they have tears in their eyes, the paper sitting on the table above them forgotten for now.

“I think we’ve been working pretty hard on editing this paper, don’t you? Break time?” Iris finally hiccups when she’s stopped giggling long enough to get a full sentence out.

“Break time,” Barry confirms. 


	8. Impossible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: cop/person getting a speeding ticket au

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Barry groans when he sees the red-and-blue lights reflected in his rear-view mirror. It’s not as though he’s never been pulled over before—this certainly isn’t the first time he’s been in a rush. But he really, really can’t be late today. Not when he’s supposed to be giving some big lecture about his most recent scientific breakthrough at Central City University.

This is huge for him. This is the beginning of his foray into the vanguard of the new and upcoming scientific community. This is his chance to really start to solidify the name he’s made for himself as, in the proud words of his father, one of the best and brightest young minds of this generation. And he’s going to be _late_.

He pulls over and smacks his head on the steering wheel, defeated, as the cop car pulls up behind him. He doesn’t bother looking up when he hears the slam of a door, not when he hears the footsteps approaching his car, calmly spelling out his death sentence, not until he hears the sharp knock on his window.

He rolls down the window, and when the officer asks for his license and registration, he prepares for the inevitable, head in his hands. Still, he has to try.

“Please, officer,” he says, passing her the requested items while keeping his gaze resolutely fixed downward, "I know I was speeding but my car wouldn’t start this morning and then I got stuck in traffic and I’ve got somewhere I really need to be and I’m going to be late—"

“—for a very important date?” the officer replies, and Barry finally finds the strength to lift his head and look her in the eyes.

She’s pretty— _really_ pretty. Her eyes are serious, and her stance is all-business, and yet she’s grinning at him with a smile that suddenly has him questioning everything he knows, because that smile can’t be real. No way, not a chance—there’s no possible explanation for something so beautiful, and as a scientist, he only deals in hard facts and reasoning, in testable theories and tangible results.

But there’s no other way to describe it—it’s impossible.

He doesn’t realize he’s completely zoned out until he hears her disappointed grunt.

“Oh, come on, nothing? You didn’t get that reference? Well, I thought it was funny,” she huffs, taking a pen and a pad of paper out of her pocket. “And why are you staring at me like that?” she adds, eyeing him suspiciously as she scribbles something down on the pad.

Barry shakes his head frantically, his jumbled thoughts making him tongue-tied for a few agonizingly long, embarrassing seconds before he can finally get a hold of himself long enough to respond.

“No, no, I get it! Ha, ha…good one. And I’m sorry if you thought I was staring, you just look really ni—wow, never mind, pretend I didn’t just say that. I was just—I’m just really stressed and…and I didn’t mean to…I’m just supposed to be somewhere real soon, it’s really important, and I—”

The officer holds up a hand to cut him off, laughing.

“Woah, slow down there, buddy. It’s okay, I get it—but speaking of slowing down,” she says, voice suddenly serious again, as she tears off the little piece off paper from the pad she’s been writing on, “I’m afraid you were going way over the speed limit—70 in a 40 miles per hour zone. I know that there’s not a lot of people on this road, but still. I’m going to have to give you a ticket.”

Barry groans and slumps back in the car seat, but he takes the ticket and doesn’t argue. 

“You know…” the officer hums thoughtfully, and her voice makes him freeze just as he’s about to roll the window back up and hope that he can somehow make it to his destination on time by sheer force of will. And a lot of praying.

“…maybe I’ll let you off the hook, you know, let you pay that ticket it off by buying me a cup off coffee sometime, instead.”

“Really?” he croaks, voice hoarse with disbelief, because he’s pretty sure she might be hitting on him, and this kind of stuff _never_ happens to him.

Her eyes are twinkling mischievously when she’s responds. 

“Nah, I’m just messing with you. I’m afraid I can’t give you any special treatment, even if you are cute.“ 

He gapes at her, unsure of what to say, so she tilts her head and taps her chin, considering, and plows on.

"Although I wouldn’t mind doing the whole coffee thing with you sometime, anyway,” she adds and winks at him before turning away, making her way back to the cop car.

He knows his mouth is hanging open in shock, and his finger is still frozen on the button to roll up the window, and suddenly it’s like he can’t think straight. He sits there for a few moments, mind reeling, watching her leave.

“Don’t you have somewhere really important to be?” she calls out, looking over her shoulder, catching him staring again and throwing him another one of those impossible smiles.

“Oh, right. Shit,” he curses, like he’s just received some unpleasant wake-up call. He puts the car back in drive and sticks a hand out the window to wave goodbye, feeling slightly ridiculous—until catches sight of her waving back.

Just as he’s about to put the ticket down on the seat next to him, he glimpses of a small piece of paper attached to it. He can vaguely make out the name  _‘Iris’_ and a string of numbers that looks suspiciously like a phone number written beneath it, and his heart speeds up against his will.

He stares at it intently before he gets moving, memorizing her handwriting, and when he finally drives away it’s with the feeling that maybe being late wasn’t such a bad thing, after all—at least not this time.

Miraculously, though, he makes it to the lecture on time. He remember’s the officer— _Iris_ —and figures it wouldn’t be the first impossible thing to happen to him today.


	9. Above Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: strangers meeting on a plane

“Dude, you know we haven’t even left the ground yet, right?”

Iris leans forward in her seat to get a better look at the guy sitting next to her, staring out the little airplane window and wringing his hands together so tightly she’s sure it must be painful. His face is mostly turned away from her but she can just make out that he’s chewing on his bottom lip, and he’s got a leg propped up on one of his knees, nervously bouncing it up and down. 

Just looking at him is making her anxious.

He tears his gaze away from the window and turns to face her, his eyes full of panic. 

“I know. But we will be. It’s just—I really don’t like flying,” he groans, sinking lower into his seat and throwing his head back against the headrest. He squeezes his eyes shut, gets this real pained look on his face like he’s trying to pretend he’s anywhere else, and quite frankly looks like he’s about to be sick. 

Iris frowns at him, wishing she had something to offer to soothe his nerves. She hums thoughtfully, wracking her brain for another solution, because if she lets him keep on doing what he’s doing, she’s afraid he just might break his fingers.

A flight attendant walks past their aisle, pushing a cart full of snacks and taking requests for beverages before the long flight. She smiles warmly at Iris, handing her a small travel pack of trail mix as she asks her if she’d like anything to drink. 

“No thanks, I think I’m good,” Iris responds, flashing her a charming smile. She glances over to the guy next to her, slouching in his chair with his eyes still tightly shut, and realizes just as the flight attendant is about to move on that she must think that he’s sleeping.

“On second thought, could I get a cup of coffee for my friend over here?” she asks sweetly, gesturing to the guy, and the woman nods at her before moving to the next aisle.

The guy’s eyes snap open and he stares at her in confusion, wondering why she’s being so nice.

“I got you a coffee,” she says brightly, grinning at him. She’s vaguely aware that caffeine is probably not the best solution to ease his nervous ticks, but she’s hoping that the warmth will at least provide him with some level of comfort. It’s always worked for her—she figures it can’t hurt for him to try it.

“Uh, yeah, I heard. Thanks,” he smiles at her, a little shaky and uncertain, but she can see the gratitude in his eyes. She’s proud of herself for cheering him up, even if only a little bit. And if that’s not his full-out smile, she kind of really wants to see what is because _wow_ —it’s pretty damn adorable.

“I’m Iris, by the way. Iris West,” she introduces herself, figuring that if she’s likely going to be consoling him for most of this plane ride she should at least know his name.

“Nice to meet you, Iris,” he replies, still with that nervous smile, but he sounds genuinely sincere. “I’m Barry. Uh, Allen. Barry Allen. Listen, sorry about…this,” he makes a vague gesture to himself, and Iris assumes he’s referring to his very obvious unease. “I really don’t mean to bother you.”

Iris waves him off with another smile. 

“It’s okay, really—nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone’s afraid of something.”

Barry nods at her, looking immensely grateful at her understanding. A few moments of comfortable silence pass between them before the flight attendant brings him his coffee, and Iris instructs him to pay special attention to the heat, to focus on breathing in and out when the cup is against his lips and he can feel the warmth from the steam on his face. 

He’s so focused on his breathing and on following Iris’s instructions that he must not really hear the announcement that they’re ready for take off, listing off the usual safety reminders. It’s a good thing that his cup is empty by the time the plane lurches into motion and starts to make it’s way down the runway, because he promptly drops it in his lap.

Whatever calm he’d managed in the few minutes of respite that Iris’s helpful little trick had given him instantly melts away, and his eyes go wide with terror, his body rigid with fear. 

As the plane finally lifts off from the ground, his hand shoots out, panicking, desperate to anchor himself to something. Iris thinks he must mean to grab the hand-rest, but his gaze is so focused on what’s straight ahead of him that he doesn’t even notice when he ends up gripping her arm instead, holding on for dear life.

“Um…” she begins awkwardly, using the arm that’s not currently trapped in his death grip to wave in front of his face and capture his attention. He blinks a few times before looking over at her, and she motions to their current predicament. 

He pulls his hand away like he’s been burned, flailing his arms wildly and tripping over his words, fumbling an apology.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…I didn’t know—I’m sorry, I—" 

“Hey, it’s okay, relax,” Iris laughs, not unkindly, trying to put him at ease. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

He nods, but his face has gone from pale with fear to red with embarrassment. Almost immediately he’s gone back to that painful hand-wringing again, averting his gaze from her to the window, trying and failing to distract himself.

It’s painful to watch, and Iris can’t help herself as she reaches out to rest a hand over his. His gaze travels from the window, to their hands, to her face. He looks startled and confused, completely taken off guard, and yet without really even realizing it he seems to relax a little at her touch.

She pulls his tightly-locked hands apart and keeps her grip on the one closest to her, guiding it to the arm-rest between them and letting it sit there, underneath her own. She squeezes it tight and gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, one that after a few seconds of stunned silence he returns in full measure. 

Even from Barry’s perspective, it’s not such a bad flight, after all.


	10. Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I almost lost you."

Ironically, it’s getting struck by lightning that helps him overcome his fear of it. Before, thunderstorms were something that terrified him, that kept him up all night and made it hard to breathe. Because with every crack of lightning he’d close his eyes and see the man and yellow, he’d see blood, he’d see his mom’s cold and lifeless body, he’d see his dad behind bars. He’d be violently reminded of everything that he’d lost, and how he’d lost it.

And then it had given him this gift—this wonderful, unbelievable gift to help people, and the very means by which to catch his mom’s killer. It had changed his life, and given him a responsibility that didn’t leave room for much fear outside of the impossible. So he isn’t afraid of it anymore.

He wishes he could say the same for Iris, because the very same accident that had lessened his fear had given birth to hers. For him, it had been nothing more than a blink of an eye, almost like he’d gone to sleep and woken back up to find out he had superpowers. 

For her, it had been nine agonizing months, months full of sleepless nights and panic attacks and dwindling hope. For her, it had been watching him die, watching his heart stop over and over again. For her, it had been nothing less than traumatic. So of course she associates lightning with that night, and of course she’s afraid of it. 

He would take back that fear in a heartbeat, he would trade without a second thought, if it would mean he could save her from it.

Rain is pounding down on the roof, the wind is howling outside of the windows, and the distant _cracks_ and _booms_ seem to shake the house with volume, but in the end it’s her crying that wakes him up.

His heart breaks when he sees her, sitting up with her knees pulled up to her chest, rocking back and forth with her hands clutching at her head and her nails digging into her scalp. He watches her move to clap her hands over her ears as another _crack_ and a _boom_  resonate throughout the place, as the room is momentarily bathed in light from the flash of lightning outside. 

In reality, it doesn’t last for more than a second. But for him, it’s as though time has slowed down, as though everything is happening in slow motion as the light reveals the whites of her eyes, wide open in terror, and the wetness on her cheeks. It’s times like these, when he’s forced to watch the tears clinging to her eye-lashes in suspended motion, where his gift is more of curse.

“Iris,” he says, voice breaking, no more than a whisper. “Oh God, Iris.”

“I can’t—, I can’t—, I can’t—,” she sobs, breath hitching in her throat. He’s known the feeling, so it isn’t hard to determine that the word she’s looking for is _‘breathe’_. 

“Iris,” he tries again, forcing himself to hold it together for her. “Iris, look at me. Don’t try to speak. Just take a deep breath, okay? You’re okay.” 

He puts a hand on her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb, and forces her gaze toward him. He watches as she struggles to get the air into her lungs, to calm herself down.

“You—you— _you—_ ,” she tries to say through strangled sob, shaking with dread. He can feel her trembling under his touch, and suddenly he understands. He pulls her into his arms and holds her tight, running his hands up and down her back to calm her down.

“Iris, _I’m okay_. I’m right here; I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

This, finally, seems to get through to her, as her erratic breathing and heart-wrenching sobs even out to silent tears, as he feels her chest steadily rise and fall as she finally allows herself to breathe again. He feels her go limp in his arms, allowing him to support her weight. They stay like that for a while, him never moving an inch, patiently waiting as she cries herself dry, reassuring her that he’s there for her, that he’s _alive_ , until she’s ready to pull away.

When she does, it’s just far enough so that she can rest her head against his chest, and bury her face into his shoulder.

“You have—you have no idea what it was like. I—I almost lost you, Barry. _I almost lost you_ ,” she hiccups, her voice small and hoarse from all the crying.

“But you didn’t,” he tells her matter-of-factly, taking her hand in his and guiding it to his heart, letting her feel the impossibly fast beating of his heart underneath her fingertips.

“No,” she says slowly, like she still can’t believe it. She tries to smile. “I didn’t.”

“And you won’t,” he reassures her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I won’t ever leave you. Or at least I’ll always come back.”

She nods against his chest, relaxing a bit, but then there’s another crack of lightning and he watches her flinch, takes in the way her body goes rigid.

“How about we do something to distract you?” he suggests, the idea suddenly occurring to him. “You know, like you used to do for me when we were kids and I would get nightmares, or when I couldn’t sleep.”

She sits back and gives him a watery smile, willing herself not to cry again.

“Barry Allen, are you seriously suggesting that we build a blanket fort?”

Barry squeezes her hand and grins back at her, determined to keep her at ease.

“That is _exactly_ what I’m suggesting.”

They decide to make it right there on the bed, after fetching some extra pillows from the couch. Iris falls asleep before they can finish, curling up underneath what they’ve built together so far, the lines of worry finally leaving her face. Barry smiles and adds the finishing touches on his own before crawling into bed beside her, laying down on his side so that he can wrap his arms around her and hold her close. 

Even half-asleep, she responds to his touch, turning around so that she’s facing him and tucking her head beneath his chin. She shifts a little to place her hand on his chest again, right over his heart. It stays there all night.


	11. Dear Barry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said that i wasn't meant to hear

_Dear Barry,_

Did you know that you talk in your sleep? Really loud, actually. I’ve known that since we were six and you slept over our house because your parents were away for the night. And then again when we were eleven and I could hear you calling out for your mother, even with the door closed, and there was nothing I could do to help you but wake you up. I always hated doing that–it always felt like I was intruding on something private, on something that wasn’t meant for me to overhear.

You should know that this Christmas wasn’t the first time you told me you loved me. I’ve heard you say it about a million times before, under your breath and with your eyes closed, with my head on your shoulder, whenever we’d fall asleep on the couch together after being up all night watching TV. I just never knew that you meant it like that. Now I feel guilty for all those times that I heard it and never really realized, like I was eavesdropping on some big secret you weren’t ready to tell. 

And now that we’re together, now that we share a bed and I almost always fall asleep after you, I hear you talk all time. It doesn’t bother me, honestly, it’s actually nice to hear your voice at night sometimes. Comforting. It was at first, at least. But then you started apologizing. You would say sorry all the time when you’re weren’t awake. And I started to wonder why, until the day I walked in on your conversation with Cisco, and I found out what you’ve been hiding from me all this time. And yeah, you should be damned sorry.

I hung back so that I could hear everything you were saying, so that you wouldn’t stop talking when you realized I was there, and for once I didn’t feel guilty. I needed to know. I deserved to know. I think the part that hurts most is that I wasn’t supposed to hear–that you didn’t _want_ me hear. 

I guess when I walked into the room and you finally saw me, you could see it my face that I knew. You said _‘to protect me’_ and you said _‘I’m so sorry’_ and you said _'I didn’t mean to hurt you’._ And the worst part is that I know that’s probably true, that I know you didn’t mean to, but all I could hear was _'I didn’t trust you’_. Because how can you expect me to believe anything you say after this, how did you not realize how much damage you were doing with every lie?

I think what you did was pretty unforgivable. You’re the person I trust most in the world, and you _lied_ to me, over and over and over again, right to my face. And I’m so angry at you, Barry, _I’m so fucking angry_ , and I don’t want to forgive you, I don’t want to let you off that easy, but I know I’m going to anyway. 

I know that I will because it’s so much easier to love you than it is to hate you. And it’s infuriating, and it’s killing me, because I want so much to be able to hate you right now, I really do, but to be honest I don’t think I could even if I tried. And I’m so furious with you I can’t even see straight, but I’m so proud of you too. You’re a fucking liar, Barry Allen, but you’re also a hero, and you’re still my best friend.

So I’m still going to love you. And it’s going to take a long, long time, but I’m still going to forgive you, too. I don’t see how I couldn’t, eventually. But you’ve got a pretty damn long road of apologies ahead of you–-and they better not just be in your sleep.

_With love, with anger, with hope for a more honest future,_

_–Iris_


	12. Drunk in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Are you drunk?"

They take care of each other. It’s kind of just what they do, something they’ve done since day one and Iris had knocked a bully out cold for teasing him on the playground. They’d bonded in detention and things just kind of took off from there.

She’d been there for him when his mom died like no one else had, the only one who’d believed him, the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel.

He’d been there for her their freshman year when she’d been stood up on her first ever real date, her favorite ice-cream at the ready and brownies in the oven as he’d popped a movie into the DVD player and let her cry into his shoulder. Looking back she doesn’t think she’d ever seen him so mad, before that night, when he’d found out someone had hurt her like that. 

Even after they’d both gone their separate ways when they’d left for college, the distance hadn’t lessened it any. They still looked out for each other like no one else did. She still sat on the phone with him for two hours to talk him down from a panic attack over an important e-mail he had to send to a professor, to calm his anxiety and reassure him everything would be okay.

He still stayed up with her all night when she’d called him hysterics about a huge test she’d had the next day that she hadn’t felt prepared for, and even though he had a lab report to work on, he’d insisted on video-chatting with her the entire time to help her study, keep her focused and her feet on the ground, and she’d ended up passing with flying colors.

The list goes on and on. They’re always in each other’s debt, but neither of them really cares about keeping score; they just care about each other.

So she’s not really surprised when she gets a call from him towards the end of their first semester at three in the morning, seeking her help. It’s lucky she’s still awake, marathoning movies on Netflix—although if she’s being honest she would have answered anyway.

“Barry, you are aware of what time it is, aren’t you?”

“Heeeeey Iris,” he slurs, sounding both excited to hear her voice and very confused as to what’s going on. Iris pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Are you drunk?”

“Whaaat? No, not—of _course_ not. I’m just…just…okay, maaaybe a little.”

She wonders how much he’s had, gauging his level of inebriation based on what she knows of his various levels of drunkenness from all the times they’d sneaked it out of the house in their mischievous high school years to drink together, to get a feel for it before they left home. Probably not much, honestly, Barry is _such_ a light weight.

She hears giggling in the background, and suddenly realizes she has no idea where he’s calling her from. It sounds like he’s out outside—she can vaguely make out the noise from a car or two passing by, and she’s suddenly concerned as to why he’s outside at three in the morning when it’s at a time of year where it’s still very cold out.

“Barry, where are you? Is someone there with you?”

“Well, that’s the thing, Iris,” he says, taking a brief pause to say something to whoever is with him, “I really have no idea. I mean—yeah there’s someone with me, my buddy Hal here—say ‘hi’ to Iris, Hal!—” she hears a jovial _‘hello!’_ in the background, followed by a ‘wait, _the_ Iris?’ and a ‘shhh, shut uuup Hal, shut your mouth’. She rolls her eyes fondly.

“You were saying…?”

“Oh, right. Well, that’s why I’m calling. I need you to—I mean, could you pleaaase look up our location? If I describe our surroundings…maybe you could…maybe…tell us where we are?”

She resists the urge to laugh, but then she’s hit with a wave of confusion.

“Okay, one: why don’t you know where you are? Two: how did you get there? And three: why are you asking me?”

It’s a few seconds before he responds, and she’s briefly afraid he might have passed out before he answers.

“That…” he says slowly, deliberately, “…is a really good question. How did we get here Hal?”

There’s muffled conversation on the other line, but Iris is able to catch a few bits and pieces.

“You mean to tell me they have hazing for the _science club_?” she asks incredulously, putting two and two together.

“Well, yeah, we’re freshmen. That’s what happens to freshmen. But, uh, we’re _supposed_ to find our way back on our own, so we can’t really call the other guys. But! No one said I couldn’t call you. Where are we, Iris?”

She mutters something under her breath about boys being idiots, and uses the GPS app on her phone to find out where he’s calling from. Somehow it’s closer to her school than his—not that they’re really that far apart, anyway, but she doesn’t know how he managed it.

"I’m picking you up,” she says, and she can hear him start to protest before she even finishes her sentence.

“No, don’t, s’late, you don’t have to…you don’t have to do that. We just need…um…what do we need? Directions! That’s right. Directions. Don’t worry ‘bout me. G’back to sleep.”

She sighs and shakes her head. Of course he wouldn’t want to bother her, even when he’s drunk off his ass. She can tell by the way he’s talking that he’s close to falling asleep, though, and she’s not going to risk him falling asleep on the side of the road at this time of night…or morning, rather. 

Besides, the last time he’d visited and she’d dragged him out to a party with her, he’d ended up carrying her back to her dorm piggy-back style when she was woozy and hiccuping because her heels had been bothering her feet, even though he’d known that she was dangerously close to throwing up all over him the entire walk back. She supposes she owes him, plus she doesn’t really mind anyway. He’d do the same for her in a heartbeat.

“It’s alright, I’m already up anyway. And there’s no arguing with me on this one—it’s a lost cause. I’m coming to get you.”

“Fiiine,” he says, too exhausted and too drunk to argue.

“Oh, and Iris?” he adds, just as she’s about to hang up.

“Yeah, Bar?” she sighs, and she hears Hal snickering in the background.

“…Could you. Um. Could you bring me a pair of pants?”

She almost asks. Almost. She decides she’s probably better off not knowing.

* * *

He’s lucky she has a habit of stealing his sweatpants and hoodies—she’s got a whole supply of them at home, and she’d made sure to take a few with her to college. Otherwise he’d be stuck trying to fit into her pants—which, given her height compared to his, would be pretty much impossible. After she fishes a pair out of her drawer, she grabs her keys and heads to the main lot, and hops into her car.

When she gets to where he is, Barry is sitting on the sidewalk, eyes closed and leaning against the guy she assumes is his fellow freshman, Hal, who also appears to be asleep. As she gets closer, either the lights from her car or the noise it makes as she pulls up must get their attention, because both of them open their eyes and squint blearily into the headlights.

As soon as Barry sees it’s her, he jumps to his feet (and almost stumbles right back over) and waves at her enthusiastically, clearly happy to see her. She laughs to herself and gets out of the car to help steady him and guide him to the passenger seat as his friend clambers into the back. It’s not until he’s sitting down that she realizes he’s in his boxers and remembers his odd request. Curiosity gets the best of her, and she decides she really, really wants to know, after all.

“Barry,” she coughs, trying to hold back a fit of laughter, “what was it that happened to your pants, exactly?" 

"Don’t r’member” he mumbles sleepily, already slumped over in the seat and drifting off again. Then his eyes snap open.

“Did you bring me replacements?”

“Yes, Barr, I brought you replacements,” she giggles, throwing the pair of sweatpants at him and watching as he clumsily pulls them on.

“You are an angel, Iris West,” he says, falling sideways into her lap as he tries to pull a leg through the wrong pant hole. “Have I ever told you that I love you? I looove you, like, really…really…” he mumbles into her leg and doesn’t get back up, and she realizes that he’s fallen asleep. She runs her fingers through his hair, smiling, and it’s not until she hears a voice from the backseat of the car that she even remembers she has another passenger.

“He really does, you know,” Hal says thickly, watching the two of them, “a looot. Never shuts up about you. It’s like…he’s like…you know…” he blinks sleepily, making vague gestures with his hands as if that will explain what his brain can’t put into words at the moment. 

Oddly enough, Iris _does_ think she knows what he means. But she’s not expecting the way her heart speeds up or the sudden flutter in her stomach at what he’s implying—or maybe that’s a big fat lie. Maybe it’s exactly what she expects.

“Yeah…”

She directs her attention back to Barry, who’s fast asleep with his head against her leg, and realizes that she still hasn’t stopped stroking his hair.

“Love you, too, Barr.”


	13. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I'll be right over."

“Barry,” Iris groans into the phone as soon as he picks up, her voice tired and strained and a little put-out.

“Hey, Iris, what’s up?”

“Wally’s here. Says he was in the area and, ah, stopped by for a visit. Anyway, he’s demanding to see you. Says it’s absolutely crucial that he speaks to you.”

Barry blinks, confused, wondering what on Earth Wally could possibly want from him. He tries to recount his recent actions, to pinpoint anything he might have done to piss him off, but he comes up at a loss.

“What did I do?”

Iris sighs, and he can picture her shaking her head, probably pinching the bridge of her nose like she does when she’s exhausted or annoyed.

“I don’t know. But please hurry and get your ass over here. He won’t stop nagging me about it.”

Barry hears a vague _‘I heard that, Iris!’_ in the background, and can’t help but laugh to himself. Whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into with the kid, it’ll still be nice to see him again. He’s always good company.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be right over.”

And he is, literally, right over. It’s nice not to have to hide the fact that he can very easily make it to places in like, two seconds flat, from her anymore. Even worth the entire month it took her to finally speak to him again after she found out. Which he absolutely deserved, and which he’s still making up for, and probably will be for a long, long, time—but still. It’s nice not having any secrets between them anymore. 

‘Over’ in this case is to Joe's—they’re having a family dinner night, and Barry and Iris promised Joe they’d cook, although Barry hadn’t planned on heading over until later. He supposes Wally must have assumed that’s were they’d be.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes when she opens the door to find him standing on her doorstep. She yanks him inside, and pushes him toward the living room, where Wally is sitting on the couch, eyeing him with disapproval.

“Uh, hey Wally, what’s up?” he asks, giving him a nervous smile that Wally doesn’t return. Instead, he narrows his eyes at Barry and glares.

“Don’t you _'what’s up’_ me, Barry. I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Barry shoots a bewildered glance at Iris, who’s hanging back and watching the scene unfold with interest. She shrugs and spreads her hands wide as if to say _'you got me’_.

“Um…" 

"You didn’t tell me you dated Linda Park, dude. _The_ Linda Park. Or as I’d like to think, my future wife. How could you do that to me, man? I thought we were friends. _Family_.”

"Oh,” Barry coughs, a little taken aback, because this was by far not what he was expecting. He glances at Iris and yeah, the atmosphere in the room has just gotten at least ten times more awkward. “I didn’t know you knew her…?”

“I don’t,” Wally clarifies, a sudden interest in his eyes as his gaze darts between Barry and Iris, their sudden tension not going unnoticed. “Well, not yet, at least. Not personally. I follow her stuff in the paper. And I’ve had like, one conversation with her before, when I visited Iris during her first week of work. She’s amazing,” he sighs dreamily, all anger apparently forgotten. “I’m going to marry her someday." 

"That’s…that’s nice, Wally,” Barry says awkwardly, fervently wishing for this conversation to be over. “But if you want someone to…introduce you, I’d ask Iris. They’re still pretty good friends. Linda was really cool, but it just didn’t work out between us.”

Wally shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I just can’t believe you dumped _Linda Park_ ,” he marvels, and Barry conveniently decides not to mention that it was actually Linda who dumped him. For the same reason it was never going to work out between them in the first place, of course, but Wally doesn’t need to know that. 

"I also can’t believe you’d betray me like that. I thought Iris was the love of your life! How is it possible that you guys aren’t a thing yet? I can’t believe I’m going to lose that bet I made with Joe.”

He grins wickedly at them, obviously expecting some sort of reaction, but Barry just clears his throat loudly and takes a step closer to Iris, just as she’s moving towards him, and slips an arm around her waist.

“Well, actually…” he trails off, looking down at Iris as she’s beaming up at him, losing himself in her smile.

“No way,” Wally says slowly, his grin growing even wider, “No way! You’re telling me that after all these years you two have finally gotten your heads out of your asses and got together?”

“Well,” Iris laughs, “that’s one way to put it. But yeah, dude, we don’t even live here anymore. We have our own place now—you just happened to stop by while I was visiting home for family dinner night.”

“Sweet,” Wally says, hopping off of the couch and walking over to them, enveloping them in a signature West bear hug. “ _Excellent._ This is the best new I’ve gotten all week. Well, actually, the second best,” he muses, stepping back and relinquishing his hold on them, just in time to catch Iris raising an eyebrow at him, “if you can get me Linda’s number. Or at least put in a good word for me.”

Iris rolls her eyes at him, but it’s with affection when she responds.

"Fine, I’ll talk to her. But if you do end up going out with her you better treat her right. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Wally promises, grinning ear-to-ear, and even though he’s being his usual goofy self Iris knows he’s serious about this. She trusts him.

“Good,” she nods, leaning into Barry’s shoulder. She looks up at him again and when he smiles at her, she wonders how they ever could have waited this long for this.

“So!” Wally announces, making his presence known after a few seconds pass of Barry and Iris gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, “I hope you know that I’ll be joining you all for dinner.”


	14. Adventures in Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I'm flirting with you."

Here’s the thing about Barry and Iris: when you put the two of them together and introduce any sort of _feelings_ into the equation, they’re kind of a mess. The best kind of mess, but still—they tend to bring these things on themselves, and make things a lot more complicated then they need to be.

After Barry tells her he loves her, Iris spends hours, days, even weeks kicking herself after the fact, observing him closely but with a distance between them that they’ve never quite had before, wondering how in God’s name she could have been so damn oblivious.

That is at least until she realizes she loves him right back, a whole fucking lot, so much so she wonders how it’s possible to feel all that for just one person. But she does, and she’s so ridiculously obvious about it she surprises herself.

And this time it’s _him_ that doesn’t catch on, who’s apparently completely blind to it, and they’re stuck in this ridiculous cycle of hidden, longing glances when one isn’t looking and pursued lips that are itching to be kissed and hearts that are aching with unexpressed love.

_What a mess._

Iris, at least, has the advantage of knowing that her feelings aren’t one-sided. At least, she doesn’t think they are.

 _‘I don’t have those feelings for you anymore’_ he’d told her…and yet she noticed everything now, was so hyper-aware of everything that he did, of the meaning behind every look, every movement. The way his mouth would tighten when she would kiss Eddie and he was nearby, the way his fists would clench and the muscle would work in his jaw when the two of them were together. And then there’s that _look_ in his eyes whenever he sees her.

Yeah, she’s calling bullshit on that one.

Somewhere down the line she calls it quits with Eddie. She feels guilty doing so, but the love she feels for him just doesn’t fill her up the same way her love for Barry does. She hadn’t really known that it was possible feel this full and this much, but now that she does, now that she knows that there’s something inside her that Eddie’s just never going to be able to satisfy, there’s really no going back. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and it wouldn’t be fair to herself, either, if she were to go on living her life as though that wasn’t the case.

She figures things don’t work out between Barry and Linda for pretty much the same reason.

And then they’re both conveniently single again, and both very much in love with each other, but he still hasn’t caught on and she doesn’t know what to say, or how to tell him. This feels huge. This is daunting. This could change everything.

So she approaches the situation cautiously, with the care and deliberation she’s picked up as a journalist. She starts dropping hints.

Letting her hand linger on his just a little too long, letting her touch carry weight and letting her skin graze his whenever she can. Making it a point to remind him what he means to her. Winking at him just a little too often to be strictly friendly, throwing out random compliments here and there. Following the protocol she had set up in eighth grade to help her win over a boy she was interested in, and reel in her crushes—a set of rules and guidelines she had actually sat down and written out one day after school. She doesn’t know how he doesn’t recognize what she’s doing. He helped her create the damn thing.

And then there’s still that underlying tension, those not-so-secret stolen looks, those feelings constantly crackling beneath the surface every time they interact, that it’s only a matter of time before it all explodes.

“Barry Allen,” she practically growls, barging into his lab one day and standing next to his desk with her hands on her hips, prepared to make one last attempt, “have I ever told you how cute you are?”

He blinks at her in surprise, her angry tone completely clashing with the sentiment she’s giving him. He doesn’t know what to think, or how to respond.

“Umm, thank you?” he says it as a question, slowly pushing his chair away from his desk, putting space between them. She looks like she wants to hit something. “Why are you…telling me this?”

Iris groans in frustration and slams a fist down on the desk, making him jump.

“Goddammit, Barry, _I’m flirting with you_ ,” she yells, stomping her foot, annoyed that he still hasn’t gotten the picture. “I’ve been flirting with you for _weeks_. I’m trying to get you to realize that I want to be _with you,_ with you.”

It takes him a few seconds to remember how to work his muscles and pick his jaw up off the ground, and for his brain to process what he’s hearing. When he does, he stands up cautiously on legs that are shaking and makes himself move so that he’s facing her, taking in the angry tears in her eyes.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” he asks, hardly daring to believe it, wanting so much for it to be true.

“Oh, _please_ ,” she says, rolling her eyes, “like you’re one to talk.”

And he can’t really argue with that. He can, however, take her face in his hands and kiss away nearly fifteen years of pent-up feelings, of bursting love, of sorely lost time.

And he does. 


	15. Heart's Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I just want this."

Iris West has always been go-getter. Even when she doesn’t have a clear idea what the future has in store for her, she’s always known what she wants out of it, just like she knows what she expects from other people, from her life, and from herself. She’s always been firm about the things she wants, and she’s never been afraid to go after them. More often than not, she succeeds.

So what the _fuck_ happened there?

That, she thinks, is a really good question.

What _do_ you want? What do _you_ want? What do you _want_?

She mulls the question over in her mind a million different ways, but no matter how she changes the emphasis or how she imagines it differently, her answer doesn’t change. Or rather, her lack of an answer. 

Because for once, she just doesn’t fucking know.

It’s all Barry’s goddamn fault, making her life so difficult, coming to her and pouring out his heart and confessing his love and awaking this doubt inside her and then telling her that no, he doesn’t have those feelings for her anymore. Making this big muddled mess of her heart.

Because then she’ll still catch him looking at her sometimes, with the same longing look she’s starting to wear more and more often, and it’s rapidly snowballing into one huge mass of confusion, so much so that it’s honestly making her head hurt. Not to mention her heart.

_‘Right now, it kind of feels like you don’t want to be with me, but you don’t want anyone else to be with me either…’_

And Christ, isn’t that the fucking truth?

At least part of it has to be, because she can’t help but remember the bitter taste in her mouth at seeing him kiss someone else, and the way her stomach curls at the thought of them together, at the massive guilt in her chest whenever she talks to Linda—because she does genuinely like the girl and she _does_ want Barry to be happy, of course she does, but at the same time she can’t help the jealousy slowly brewing inside of her. 

And it’s jealousy at what, exactly? At the thought of someone making him happier than she can? At the fact that maybe she wants to be the one he’s kissing, holding close, showing up at work to take out to dinner after all?

But then there’s still that huge gaping pit of uncertainty as to whether or not that’s really a road she wants to go down in the first place, whether it’s just her mind playing tricks on her or whether ‘unrequited’ was just another lie she told herself to make things seem easier.

Because being with Eddie is nice. Being with Eddie is steady. Being with Eddie is easy. Being with Eddie makes her happy.

And yet…she’s just not so sure it’s what she wants anymore.

The thing is, she’s just never thought about Barry this way before now, in any capacity bordering on romantic. She’s always been content just to have him by her side, her best friend, her support, her family. In a way, she’s always just kind of _had_ him, he’s always been a part of her life, so she’s never really wanted him in any other sense before. 

_Has she?_

She really doesn’t want to think about that, either.

It goes on for a little while like that, the jealousy, the longing, the uncertainty, and then one day Linda breaks up with Barry, and she can’t tell whether her heart is heavy with joy or with dread.

She can’t help her curiosity and she figures that her and Linda are friends, so it’s not exactly weird for her to ask. When she does, Linda gives her a sad smile and pats her on the arm and tells her _‘he was never really mine anyway, Iris. I think we both know that.’_

And yeah. She knows.

When she breaks up with Eddie, she’s doesn’t cry like she thinks she will. Doesn’t shed a tear, not even a drop—although he does, of course. It breaks her heart, seeing him so broken and knowing that she caused it, because he’s a good guy and he’s always treated her right and she had— _oh god, is she really already thinking in the past tense?_ —genuinely loved him. She feels terrible for it, feels so guilty for hurting him, but more than anything she feels relieved. And that really scares her.

But being in Barry’s arms doesn’t. His face this close to hers doesn’t. So when that’s where she ends up, she knows she’s getting closer and closer to figuring this all out. She can feel it in the way that he touches her, in the beating of his heart and in the steadily building anticipation in hers.

_What do you want, Iris?_

And as he’s kissing her, as he’s cradling her face in his hands and she’s pressed up against him and there are butterflies in her stomach and a pleasant buzzing in her head and a warmth that reaches all the way down to her toes, she finally has her answer. It comes so easily, so naturally, she wonders how she ever could have had a doubt in the first place. Whether she hasn’t really known it all along, after all. 

The answer is so simple, so glaringly obvious, it almost makes her laugh.

_I just want this._


	16. Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Come home."

Sometimes, Barry thinks about what Caitlin had said to him about Iris, the day they’d first met, the day he’d woken up from his coma. 

 _She talks_ a lot.

He knows this, of course—Iris has always had a bubbly personality. But he often wonders about what exactly she could have been talking about in those nine months that he missed out on her company. 

He can’t bring himself to ask her—he doesn’t think it would be fair. And he doesn’t think she wants to relive the experience any more than he does, but still. He’s curious.

Sometimes, Iris remembers it with vivid clarity. Most of the time she tries to block it out, tries her best to pretend that those nine months never happened, but there are certain occasions where she can’t seem to stop the onslaught of memories, certain times where she’ll remember every word she spoke to him that he never heard.

And it’s really fucking painful.

 _“I went to the movies the other night, Barr. Sunday._ Our _movie night, remember? It was some obscure new sci-fi movie, I think it was called…God, I can’t even remember the name, isn’t that sad? I was too busy thinking about you. Too busy thinking about how it was one that I remember you’d said that you were so excited for. Before…before all this. I really wish you’d been there. It wasn’t the same without your commentary.”_

 _“Talk to me, Barry. It’s so lonely without you. I miss your voice. I miss your excited rambling about science experiments and useless trivia you know I don’t actually care about. I miss the way your eyes light up when you’re excited or happy or proud, and I really miss your smile. I miss your hugs. I miss_ you _, Barry. God, I miss you so much.”_

_"Look at me, Barry. Open your eyes. I want you to see that I’m here. I want you to know that I’m never going to leave. But it’s so hard when you won’t just…when you can’t fucking see me. When you can’t hear me. When you can’t feel my touch. Barry, I’m trying, I’m really trying, but It’s so fucking hard.”_

_”_ Listen _to me, Barry. You have to wake up, okay? You_ have _to. This isn’t funny. I need you to wake up. I can’t—I need you here with me. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”_

 _“Come home with me tonight, Barry, please,”_ she’d pleaded once, running her fingers through his hair. It had been months, and she still hadn’t gotten used to the complete lack of response—she was so accustomed to him leaning into her touch. 

_“Dad’s making his signature lasagna—your favorite. He’s been doing that a lot, recently. Making all your favorite foods. And he sets a place for you at the dinner table every night even though you’re not there, like he used to do when you first moved into your new apartment. I think he’s still hoping one day you’ll just walk right in and sit down with us, and he wants everything to be perfect when you do again.”_

She hadn’t mentioned that she’d been very much hoping this too. That she couldn’t decide what she hated herself more for—refusing to give up hope when it seemed more likely with each passing day that her hope was in vain, putting all her faith in an impossible possibility, or the fact that she could feel a tiny sliver of that hope curl up and die inside her each time she would visit him and he wouldn’t wake up.

_"Come home, Barry. Come home to me.”_


	17. Sharing a Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: (pre-confession, Iris still doesn't know about how Barry loves her) Barry and Iris going on a trip together. for some event or something. and they are spending the night together in the same room with one bed, because it is the only room available. and Barry couldn't sleep at all because Iris is next to him. and also because she kicks when she is asleep

The problem with going to junior prom with your best friend is that everyone assumes that you’re dating. Which is very notably an even _bigger_ problem when you really, really wish it were true. And then there’s also the fact that when your friend group is arranging rooms for your after-prom festivities in the condo they’ve rented down the shore, they deliberately put all the couples together. They factor the two of you into that equation. The rooms are small. There’s only one bed. Naturally, you’re expected to share.

He doesn’t know how he manages to talk them out of it—no matter how hard he and Iris try to convince their friends that they’re not actually together, no one really believes it. But they keep at it, the two of them, denying it at every turn, and every time Barry has to watch her roll her eyes, to listen to the frustration creeping into her voice whenever someone gushes about how _cute_ they are together and she shoots it down straight away like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, his heart breaks just a little bit further. He keeps a smile up, anyway, even though it couldn’t possibly be more fake, because this is her weekend, and she’s been excited about this for months, and he’ll be damned if he ruins it for her. He just wants her to be happy.

So he persists. And somehow, he manages to convince Jen, the girl who’s in charge of arranging everything for prom weekend, that _no_ , they’re not dating, and to  _please, God_ , just put them in separate rooms. Which isn’t actually what Iris is even worried about, he knows—he doesn’t really think she’d have much of a problem with sharing a bed, because it’s not like they’ve never done it before. She’d probably think nothing of it, as though it would just be one of their many sleepovers when they were little kids, or those times when she would climb into bed with him to comfort him when he used to get nightmares. 

She doesn’t think that anything has changed between them. She doesn’t know how he feels. How can she, when he’s never told her? That part is more for his sake, in this case. Because they’re not little kids anymore, and even though he still loved her then, the way he loves her now is something much different, much stronger, much more than just a friend.

So all is well, or as well as it can get when his heart is still broken in about a million different places—until he hears a knock on his door at the condo, right after he’s finished brushing his teeth and just as he’s about to turn in after a long night of dancing and talking and laughing and trying not to be too obvious with his staring. On a good day it’s hard for him to keep his eyes off her. In that dress? It had been nearly impossible. When he opens the door, she’s standing there in front of him, in her thin fleece pajamas and with her hair already wrapped, still wearing the heavy makeup she’d done mostly by herself for prom but with a little help from him. And _Jesus Christ_ , is she ever not beautiful? 

“Oh, hey Iris. What’s up?”

“Um, hey. So, I have a big favor to ask. Ah, Becky and Adam are… _really_ going at it in my room right now, and I don’t have really have anywhere else to stay, and I was wondering if…well…”

And there it is. The universe just loves fucking with him, doesn’t it? He’s practically jumped through hoops to avoid this very situation, and yet it finds him anyway. He has the _worst_ luck.

“Yeah, of course. I was wondering were Adam went,” he muses, even though he hadn’t actually given a second thought to where the guy he’d been supposed to share a room with had gone. He opens the door all the way, stepping aside to let her in, because of course he can’t say no to her. She smiles and pats his shoulder affectionately as she brushes past him and then immediately plops down on the bed, kicking off her shoes and sprawling out her legs and sighing in pleasure at the feeling of finally being off of her feet. He swallows hard.

“Uh, you can take the bed. I’ll just…I’ll sleep on the floor. I brought an extra blanket, anyway. I don’t mind.”

She sits up and raises an eyebrow, frowning at him in confusion.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Barry. We can just share. I mean, you’re tall, but you don’t take up that much space. You’re too skinny.”

“No, no, really—it’s fine. I’ll just…the floor is fine. The floor is great, actually. You just take the bed. Make yourself comfortable, please.”

“Bear, come on, I am not stealing your bed and letting you sleep on the floor! Just give it up already. It’s _fine,_ seriously.”

And then she pouts, and she gets that real determined look in her eye that she gets whenever she’s dead-set on something, and he knows he’s already lost this battle. He never really stood a chance, anyway, not against her.

He lets out a deep breath and prepares himself for the worst. “Alright, alright. Fine. No floor, then.”

“Good. Now that’s more like it,” she beams at him, and he feels his heart speed up at that familiar smile, just like it always does. He’s not even standing close to her right now, and this is how she’s making him feel. _How the fuck is he supposed to survive a night in the same bed?_ She yawns loudly, covering her mouth with an expertly-manicured hand. “God, I’m super beat. I think this is the first time I’ve sat down all day. Thanks for tonight, Barry. For everything. For dancing with me so much even though I know you hate it.” 

She smiles sweetly at him as she tucks herself comfortably under the covers, eyelids droopy and already half-asleep before her head even hits the pillow. It takes him a while to work past the lump in his throat.

“Anytime. I didn’t mind it, really. I always have a good time when I’m with you,” he says, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t even know if she hears him or not. Her eyes are closed and her face is peaceful, and he thinks she might already be out. 

He sighs and rubs a tired hand down his face, resisting the urge to groan as he changes out of his dress shirt and makes his way over to the bed, dreading this. He climbs under the covers, only because it’ll look suspicious if he doesn’t, and takes great care to position himself as far away from her in this cramped little space as he can, angling himself away so that he’s nearly falling off the edge of the bed. And even at that, she’s still far too close. He can still feel the warmth of her presence at his side. Already, it’s killing him.

There’s a few different reasons why he stays up all night. The first two are that he forces himself to stay awake. For one, he knows he talks in his sleep. He doesn’t want to think of what he might babble while he’s not conscious, and he can’t risk saying something he’ll regret. Particularly because he so desperately wants to tell her, especially now, that he’s nearly bursting with these feelings he’s kept hidden for so long, so much so that it’s all he can really think of at the moment. But he can’t yet—he doesn’t want to risk ruining their friendship, he doesn’t want to ruin her weekend, he doesn’t even want to imagine the look on her face when she’ll tell him she doesn’t feel the same way. What if she wakes up in the middle of the night to catch him talking in his sleep about just how much he really loves her? He can’t allow himself to take that chance. 

For another, much more humiliating, thing, he doesn’t trust his own body. He already feels like every nerve ending is on fire just being this close to her, like even though he’s so, so exhausted there’s this electricity crackling beneath his skin and keeping him wide awake and sometimes she’ll shift and brush up against him a bit and the thing is—he’s dreamed about her before. Thought about her in the dark in that capacity more times than he’d like to admit, in ways he’s not proud of, not when she’s two doors down and he has to face her the morning after and now she’s so close he doesn’t even want to think about what his traitor mind will come up in his sleep. Actually, scratch that, he does, he really does, but he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to look her in the eye again if he were to have one of those dreams again with her sleeping _right next to him_.

The last thing is more of a her thing than a him thing, although it’s distracting all the same. She kicks in her sleep. Like, pretty hard. Normally, he’d probably be able to sleep through it anyway, but because it’s her, because it’s her _touching_ him, because he’s so hyper-aware of his body right now and of hers right next to him and of her every movement, there’s no chance. So he lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, willing it to be morning already. 

He’s finally worked out a system to distract himself, reciting all the elements of the periodic table in his head, when she rolls over. He freezes as her leg drapes over his, and her hand lands on his chest, and her face is so close he can _feel_ her breath on his neck. He wonders how she isn’t woken up by how _loud_ his heart is thudding in his chest right now, because it’s all he can hear, and his skin is itching for more and he’s focusing really hard on breathing in and out and _if she only knew what she was doing to him._

He wrestles really hard with his thoughts, to veer them back to innocent territory, and starts listing off different physics constants in his head. Avagadro’s number. Planck’s constant. The speed of light. It works a little better than the elements, anyway, and somehow he manages to survive till morning, watching with strained eyes as light slowly filters into the room, not daring to move an inch, the back of his eyes burning with exhaustion from being kept open so long. The second he feels a change in her breathing— _feels,_  he thinks to himself, because she’s so goddamn close—and starts to exhibit the first signs of waking up, he schools his expression to look like he’s just woken up, too. He doesn’t bother pretending to be a asleep—he knows she’d see right through that.

He tries really hard not to watch as her eyelids flutter open, and he stares straight ahead, but he catches it in the periphery of his vision anyway and feels another painful crack in his heart as he catches her horrified expression at realizing the position they’re in. She pulls away and he pretends that this is what alerts him to her presence, as if he’s been able to think of anything else all night, and when he sits up and rubs his eyes and looks at her she grins sheepishly at him.

“Sorry,” she laughs, embarrassed, and even with the makeup from the night before smudged underneath her eyes and her voice thick with sleep she’s _still_ the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. “Did you sleep well?”

He fights the urge to break out into laughter at the question, to bite back the truth even though he feels it burning at the back of his throat. He considers telling her then. But no—it’s still not the right time. He’s not ready, and she’s not ready, and whatever. He knows it’s all excuses to cover up the fact that’s he’s fucking terrified of change. And yet…maybe next year. Next year he’ll tell her. 

Maybe.

“Yeah,” he struggles to say, fighting to keep his voice from wavering, from giving anything away. “Yeah, great.”

Honestly, the floor would have been more comfortable.


	18. Meeting at a Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: two miserable people meeting at a wedding au

“You wanna know something? I really hate love,” he grumbles moodily, swishing the ice around in his drink. God, right now, he would give anything to be able to get drunk again. 

“Nah, man,” Cisco shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink. A soda—he thought he’d spare Barry the jealousy. “I think you’re full of shit.”

Barry narrows his eyes at him. “What are you getting at? That I can’t be dark and angsty? I’m telling you, true love is a myth.”

“Barry,” Cisco sighs, shaking his head in amusement. “I don’t think you’ve gone a week since I’ve known you without hugging someone for something. Also, you cried when Caitlin and I told you we were getting engaged. And you also cried during _When Harry Met Sally_. That’s a romantic _comedy_ , dude. Nobody cries during romantic comedies unless they’re pretty invested in the whole ‘love’ thing. So yeah, I think you’re full of shit.”

Barry pouts. Why had he agreed to take Cisco along with him as his plus one to this stupid thing anyway? He wouldn’t have come at all if Caitlin hadn’t made him, scolding him about needing to be polite.

“Fine, whatever. You and Caitlin are different, though. I actually like you guys. Plus I’ve been waiting for you guys to get together for months now, so they were, like, more tears of relief.”

“Suuure, Barry,” Cisco laughs, and Barry sighs in frustration.

“I just…I can’t believe _Becky Cooper_  found her special someone before I did.”

“Dude, stop being so dramatic. You’re only twenty-five. It’s not the end of the world. And was she really that bad? You act like she was a total nightmare.”

Barry shudders at the memory of his high school girlfriend—albeit of only a few months. He honestly doesn’t know what he was thinking there, except that he had just been thrilled that any one was showing interest in him in the first place. At the time, he didn’t really care who it was. But yeah, ‘nightmare’ was an understatement.

“You have no idea,” he says darkly, “I honestly don’t even know why I’m invited to this thing. The break up wasn’t exactly pretty, either. I’m pretty sure she just invited our entire high school class, otherwise I doubt I would’ve been. Unless she’s trying to rub it in my face, you know, that she’s found someone who loves her before I have.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in love?” Cisco quips, and Barry makes a face at him. “Oh, come on, cheer up already.” His gaze sweeps the room, and suddenly his eyes light up as a devious-looking grin makes its way onto his face. “Hey, do me a favor, and look over there.”

Barry follows his gaze to the corner of the room, to a girl who’s sitting there with her chin in her hands and looking almost as miserable as Barry feels. And beautiful. Like, really fucking beautiful. 

Once Cisco is sure that he’s spotted her, he pushes back his chair and makes to stand up. “See that girl? I can’t imagine why, but she’s sitting all alone. You should really go sit with her. Make a new friend. And talk. You can be miserable together.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, startled. 

“I’m going home, duh. I think it’s time you branched out a bit. I mean, that’s the reason Caitlin made you come to this thing—the rude thing was just an excuse.”

“Wait—Cisco! You can’t just leave me here all alone!”

Cisco pauses as he’s turning away to throw him a wink. “You don’t have to be alone, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. And chill—you can run home, buddy,” he gives him a mock a salute and one last evil grin, and then he’s gone. Barry sits there in stunned disbelief. He could easily go after him, catch him, make him suffer through this whole stupid reception with him, sure, but now he’s too distracted by the girl in the corner.

Unfortunately for him, Cisco’s forgotten that if it’s not fighting crime or dealing with other meta-humans, when it’s anything involving exercising his less-than desirable social skills, he doesn’t really have a brave bone in his body. Instead, he shoots her a lot of furtive glances, quickly looking down and staring hard at the table whenever she looks up and almost catches him. Except then he can practically _feel_ her eyes on him too, and it’s a lot of back and forth glances, a lot of almost catching each other in the act but not quite, until finally they look at the same time and she catches his eye, and holds his gaze. He freezes as she stares right at him, when she grins like she knows just what he’s thinking. And, lucky for him, where he lacks the courage, she clearly doesn’t, because she’s pushing her chair back and she’s getting up and she’s walking his way and  _oh God_ , she’s walking towards him.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks when she reaches his table, and before he even answer she’s already pulling out the chair that Cisco has recently vacated. He smiles to himself, sucks in a deep breath and wills himself not to blow this, and shakes his head.

“Not at all,” he says as she’s plopping down in the seat next to him. “I’m Barry, by the way. Barry Allen.”

He really hopes his palms aren’t as sweaty as they feel when he shakes her hand— _do people even shake hands anymore? Is he already making a fool out of himself?_ —but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Barry. I’m Iris West.” She grins sheepishly at him. “Sorry for barging over like this, by the way, or if I’m intruding. It’s just—I saw that your friend left, and you were alone too, and you look pretty much as thrilled as I do to be at this thing. I thought maybe we could keep each other company.”

“Oh, no, don’t apologize! You’re not intruding at all. It’s probably good that I talk to someone rather than let myself just mope around about having to be here, anyway.”

“Likewise,” she grins, and then tilts her head curiously. “So, how do you know Becky, then? Or do you even know her? I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure half of these people she’s never even spoken to before. Or wait—you could know the groom, I guess, I didn’t think about that—”

“No, I know Becky,” he resists the urge to add _‘unfortunately’_ , to that statement, just in case this girl is her friend. “I dated her for a little while back in high school. Like, a very brief while.”

“Wait, no way—me too!”

“Oh my God,” Barry laughs, quickly shaking off his shock, “I’m so sorry you had to feel that pain too, then.”

Iris throws her head back and groans, making a show of it. “I was about to say you have no idea, but I guess you actually do. ‘Pain’ is putting it lightly. More like torture, honestly.”

“Tell me about it,” he mutters, shaking his head. “And yet, she’s still found someone before me.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Iris sighs, rubbing her temples. “Love is stupid, anyway. If Becky’s getting married I’m not so sure I even believe it’s real.”

“Exactly! Someone understands,” he nods in agreement, and raises his glass. “Cheers to being bitter and single, then.”

She laughs, and the sound sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. _Oh no,_ he thinks to himself, and before he can tamp done the sudden fluttery feeling in his stomach she’s flashing him this brilliant smile and it’s just about the nicest thing he’s ever seen and it’s being directed right at him and it’s _for_ him and _oh, fuck_. He swallows hard and he’s already thinking of every love-at-first-sight movie he’s ever seen and _God, he’s such a sap_ and _fuck Cisco for always being right_. She lifts up a near-empty glass from the table—Cisco’s abandoned soda—to clink with his. “Cheers.” 

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, Barry struggling to get a grip on himself as they silently bond over their sour attitudes, glaring at Becky who’s still swaying in her new husband’s arms on the dance floor. He determinedly avoids glancing over at Iris, because she looks just as good grumpy as she does smiling, and he really can’t handle the adorable way she’s scrunching up her nose in distaste like that and… _fuck it_.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here? Maybe go grab a cup of coffee or something? I think I’m gonna be sick if I look at them any longer.”

He feels the heat rising in his cheeks, and he knows he must look pathetic. _Be cool, Barry,_ he scolds himself. _Be cool_. Why can’t he ever get through anything without blushing like an idiot? But then she breaks out into another breath-taking smile—which wouldn’t sound half as cheesy if it weren’t for the fact that looking at her is genuinely making it a little hard for him to breathe—and she puts a hand on his shoulder. He feels his heart speed up a little in excitement when she responds.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	19. A Happy Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: literally bumping into each other au

“Oof!”

Iris felt her cup of coffee slip from her fingers as she turned the corner and collided with something hard—her eyes had been glued to her phone as she scanned the e-mail her boss had just sent her, not paying attention to her surroundings. She was in the zone, as she liked to call it. Once she had her mind set on something, nothing could distract her. Except for, maybe, walking straight into another person. 

For his part, Barry was just late. As always. Late and rushing and not really paying much attention to where he was going, rounding the corner so fast he didn’t even notice the person right in front of him. Not until it was too late and he had already barreled right into them before he could stop himself, his coffee cup tipping clumsily onto their chest. Of course today would be the day he’d forget to use a lid.

“Oh, my God—”

 “I am so—”

“—I didn’t even—”

“—sorry, I didn’t—

“—see you there.”

After a few moments of fumbled, confused apologies, they stood there, dripping, covered in each others’ coffee and at a loss for words. Barry coughed and broke the silence, wiping his wet, sticky palms on his equally wet jeans and trying again. 

“That was my fault, really, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m so sorry about all…this,” he apologized lamely, gesturing to the sticky state they were both in, at the liquid dripping from their clothes and pooling at their feet. He fully expecting her to go off on him for getting her soaked and ruining her clothes, which were much nicer than his generic plaid button-up. He wouldn’t miss it—he owned about ten more that looked pretty much the same—but he couldn’t say the same for her. Instead, she smiled and shook her head. The gesture made his breath catch in his throat.

“No, I wasn’t paying attention either. I’m sorry, too.” He gave her a hesitant smile in return, and it was almost enough to make up for the dull throbbing from where the hot liquid had scorched her skin. She did suppose he was the lucky one in this situation—she liked her coffee with so much milk and sugar she doubted it was even hot anymore by the time it made contact with him. She glanced down at her chest, wondering if she’d actually been burned after all, and felt her face heat up in mortification. Of all the days to wear a hot-pink bra, honestly.

Barry sensed her discomfort, and his eyes flickered down for a half-a-second to follow her gaze before he blushed and respectfully averted his eyes from where his coffee had spilled, soaking through her plain-white shirt and making it agonizingly see through. He found It wasn’t really hard at all—he was too much in awe of her face, anyway. 

The second the corners of her lips started to turn down into a grimace and she crossed her arms over her chest in embarrassment, all he could think about was wanting to help her out, to get another glimpse of that smile. He’d never seen anything quite like it before. 

He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her, not even caring about the fact that he didn’t know her, that he might never see her again. Knowing that it was going to a worthy cause was enough—besides, he needed a new one anyway, especially now that this one would probably have coffee stains all over it.

“Here, take my jacket,” he offered, holding it out to her. “I mean, if you want. It’s the least I can do for ruining your outfit.”

“What about you?” she wondered, eyeing his coffee-soaked shirt and the blotches on his pants. At the very least he could zip up the jacket to cover the worst of it—it had survived relatively in tact compared to the rest of him. 

He shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t the worst they’ve seen me at work. Just the other day I walked straight into my boss and spilled his smoothie all over the both of us—I guess I have a bad habit with this sort of thing. But I’ll be fine, really—You need it more than me.”

She laughed and nodded, taking the jacket and putting it on, zipping it all the way up. She tried not to be too obvious when she took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent, but it smelled really  _good._ A weird but pleasant combination of coffee, cinnamon, and hair gel. She suddenly had the strange urge to see if the rest of him was the same.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, “thanks.”

He smiled widely at her, before his cell-phone starting ringing. He groaned as he checked his watch and caught a glimpse of the time.

“Oh, God, I’m really late, I’m sorry. That’s probably work. I should go, uh. Bye, um,” he paused, not really sure how to bid a proper goodbye to someone he’d just emptied his coffee onto, given his jacket, and who’s name he still didn’t even know.

“It’s Iris, in case you were wondering. And you…?”

“Barry,” he mumbled as he collected the bag that he’d dropped off the ground, slinging it over his shoulder and shaking off the liquid that had gotten on it. He made to leave, giving her a flustered little wave, when her hand shot out and caught his arm. He froze and turned to face her, pulse racing.

“Wait, before you go—I’m gonna at least need your number so that I can return your jacket at some point.”

Barry shook his head graciously. “Nah, it’s fine, I don’t mind if you keep it. I’ve been meaning to get a new one anyway.”

Iris resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This guy was cute, and incredibly sweet, but damn, he was oblivious. “Okay, well…” she tried again, gaze landing on their sad-looking, empty cups off coffee scattered on the ground by their feet. She gestured to them. “I guess this at least means I owe you a cup of coffee, right?”

He blinked, a slow smile spreading across his face as he finally began to catch on.“Well, when you put it that way, I guess that means I owe you one, too.”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I only really see one possible solution here, then. How about we kill two birds with one stone?” Iris smirked, her eyes lighting up. “Meet me at Jitters later—say, 7:00? And I can—well, _we_ can make it up to each other. And, you know, maybe just talk.”

“Talk?” he echoed with a grin. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll—I’ll see you then.”

He bid her goodbye, resuming his hurried walk-run down the road, with a goofy smile on his face. He dully noted that he was probably paying even less attention than he had been before, his mind in such a haze of excitement and disbelief, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He almost didn’t hear her when she called out after him one last time, laughter in her voice.

“Just don’t be late!”


	20. Friendly Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: westhallen + "There's been something I've been meaning to say..."
> 
> (this one is westhallen so it contains Eddie)

“Babe, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say…”

“What is it, Iris?” Eddie hums distractedly from where he’s sitting on the couch, filling out a crossword puzzle. She shifts next to him, and lays a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t take this too hard, but…well, Barry gives better massages than you.”

“Excuse me?” That gets his attention, and Eddie slowly puts down the paper, mildly offended. He turns to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Iris shrugs and grins at him sheepishly. “Yeah, I mean, he’s great. Of course, you could jog my memory for me, you know. Prove me wrong.”

“Alright,” Eddie cracks his knuckles, determined. He’s not sure what he’s more distressed about—the fact that Iris thinks his massages are apparently sub-par, or if Barry’s massages are really so great why he’s never offered to give him one. “Turn around.”

Iris claps her hands excitedly and turns her back towards him, rolling her shoulders. “That’s the spirit.”

As soon as he begins rubbing the tenseness from a long day of work from her shoulders, she lets out a little sigh of pleasure, her body melting into his touch. He smirks to himself, and gets down to work. Neither of them even hear the front door open and close.

“Guys, I’m home,” Barry calls as he steps through the door, groceries in hand. He deposits them in the kitchen and is just about to take his coat off when he spots them, Iris with her eyes closed and a content, lazy smile on her face, Eddie with his tongue between his teeth, eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he kneads his knuckles into Iris’s back.

“Umm, guys…?” he tries again to alert them to his presence, raising an eyebrow in question when Iris’s eyes fly open and Eddie’s head shoots up in surprise, his hands stilling on Iris’s lower-torso.”Am I interrupting something…?”

Eddie shakes his head and motions for Barry to join them on the couch.

“Iris said you give better massages than me. I was trying to prove her wrong. Which, by the way, if that is true—and I’m not saying it is, seriously, I won’t admit defeat that easily—why haven’t I ever been on the receiving end?”

Barry laughs and shrugs, plopping down next to Iris, sandwiching her in between them. “Well, you’ve never asked. And it’s interesting you say that, because coincidentally, Iris told me the exact same thing the other day—that _you_ give better massages, and then she convinced me to reclaim my honor. I don’t know, if you ask me, I’d say she’s playing us, Eddie. Using us for free massages.”

Eddie narrows his eyes and Iris puts a hand over her heart, feigning innocence. “That is a _lie_ ,” she gasps dramatically. It’s not very convincing.

“Huh. Interesting. _Very_ interesting. I think this calls for some payback?”

He meets Barry’s gaze over top Iris’s head and grins evilly, eyes flickering to Iris and back. Barry nods in agreement, and they exchange a look of silent understanding as they both begin to lean in towards her, closing her in.

Iris looks back and forth between the two of them, eyes going wide, sinking further and further back into the couch. She shakes her head. “I would _never_ do that. Turning my two favorite boys against each other? I’m offended you would even suggest that I—”

Her words are cut off with a gasp as they start to tickle her, ignoring her feeble, half-hearted protests in between all her giggling. At some point the couch becomes too small to hold the three of them, and she slips off, quickly getting to her feet. 

“You’re not going to get me to confess that easily,” she laughs, breathless, and starts to make her way towards the bedroom, throwing a flirtatious wink over her shoulder as she does. “You’re going to have to catch me!”

They exchange another look, bright-eyed and comprehending. As always, they happily fall into step right behind her, more than willing to comply.


	21. Inappropriate Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Are you flirting with me?"

It’s not even two seconds after she texts him that he’s there, whooshing her up to the rooftop at Jitters. She doesn’t even remotely get a chance to finish her coffee.

He pulls back his cowl and puts his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes with concern. He’s on full alert and she can tell he’s scoping out the area, taking in the scene around him, and then scanning her for injuries.

“Iris, are you okay? I just got your message. Did something happen? Are you hurt? You said it was urgent,” he says in a rush, searching her expression. The look on his face when she smiles is priceless.

“ _Relax_ , Barry—I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just needed to see you ASAP for an interview with the Flash. Boss’s orders.”

Barry lets out the breath he’s been holding in and the knot of worry loosens in his chest, knowing she’s okay. Then he raises an eyebrow at her in question.

“You do realize you could’ve just asked me that in person and done it at home, right?”

Iris shakes her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

“Oh, come on, Bear, it’s all about the atmosphere. This is more…official. Business-like, I don’t know. Anyway, are you going to answer my questions or not? If I do this I get to write a front-page spread about whatever I want next week.”

“Fine,” Barry sighs, defeated, and spreads his hands wide. “Shoot.”

“Okay, lets start with the basics. Favorite color?”

Barry groans as Iris looks at him expectantly, pen poised expertly in her hand and pressed up against her notepad, ready to write.

“Iris, you _know_ what my favorite color is. You know what my favorite everything is. In fact, you pretty much already know everything about me. So why are we doing this again?”

Iris taps the pen on notepad impatiently. “ _Because_ , Barry, it’s protocol. Also, this gives you a chance to throw people off your identity. You know, just answer things with something different than what you would actually say or something. Now answer the question, I don’t have all day.”

“Alright, fine,” he says grudgingly, “Um, yellow then.”

Iris’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“But you hate the color yellow,” she states matter-of-factly.

“I am literally just doing exactly what you just told me to do, Iris!”

The crease in Iris’s forehead smooths out and she gives a little  _‘ah’_ in understanding. 

“Right. I did say that. Anyway, moving on…”

She drills him with questions she already knows the answers to for at least half an hour, and then chews on her pen thoughtfully before asking her next question.

“So, Flash, how’s it like moving around in that suit? Comfortable? Uncomfortable? It’s got to serve more of a purpose than just being tight to show to off your ass. Which is very nice, by the way. I enjoy it.”

Barry laughs and jumps out of the way as Iris gets closer and attempts to grab his butt.

“ _Iris West,_  I am shocked. Are you flirting with me? During an _interview_? That’s unprofessional.”

She huffs and sticks her tongue out at him, jotting something down on her notepad. Probably making something up, Barry figures. 

“Hey, that was off the record. Besides, everyone can already see that you have a cute butt. I don’t need to tell them that.”

Barry rolls his eyes and motions for her to continue. “Alright, hurry up, I’m hungry and I was just on my way home to make dinner when you insisted I come here. Anything else you need to know?”

“Just one more thing,” Iris says with a mischievous glint in her eye, laying a hand on Barry’s chest. “Would the Flash be interested in engaging in some kinky roof-top sex with Central City’s most talented and gorgeous journalist before taking her home for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Barry says with a smirk as Iris presses up against him, “I don’t think my wife would approve.”

Iris waves a hand in dismissal, the lights of the busy city around them glinting off of her ring, and scoffs, guiding Barry’s face down closer to hers. 

“She doesn’t have to find out,” she whispers in his ear, and even after all this time being together, it still sends shivers down Barry’s spine. “Besides, she’s forgiven you before.” Iris pauses to smile, her lips curling against Barry’s skin. “You’re really lucky to have her.”

“Yeah,” Barry breathes as Iris kisses his neck, “I am.”


	22. Stay Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "If you die, I'm gonna kill you."

She had meant it as a joke. A completely harmless, throw-away little comment—one she’d said out of mild annoyance and a reluctant sort of fondness as he’d given her that sheepish grin of his, the one that he always saved just for her after his phone would ring and he’d have to bail on their plans _again_ because someone was shooting up the grocery store or robbing a bank. 

Or trying to take over the city with meta-human powers—that happened sometimes too.

He had hung up the phone wearing a guilty expression on his face, and before he’d even been able to open up his mouth to apologize she’d let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine, I get it. Go do your thing,” she’d said, trying and failing to look irritated. Knowing what he was going to do, knowing how much good he was doing…well, it was hard to be well and truly annoyed when she was too busy feeling so proud.

He’d given her a quick peck on the cheek, grateful for the understanding. She’d jabbed a finger at his chest and leveled him with a stern look before letting him speed away.

“Just be safe, okay? If you die on me on date night, I’m gonna kill you.”

At the time, he had laughed, and she had smiled, teasing. It had been funny. She had been joking. Looking back now, with her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly it hurt and as the images she’d seen on TV replayed themselves over and over and over again in her head, it wasn’t even remotely funny anymore.

She hadn’t even said ‘I love you’. Why hadn’t she said I love you?

She tried again to block out the images, along with the evil little voice that kept telling her what it meant, what she’d find, but they were relentless. The Flash— _Barry_ —getting tossed this way and that, thrown around like a rag doll by some unseen force, all caught live on the evening news. 

And then it had stopped, and he’d been left just…laying there, unmoving, looking so broken. If she had stayed watching any longer, she would have noticed the slight lift of his head, and then the way he had staggered back to his feet, hurt but alive, but by that point Iris had already been in her car and speeding to S.T.A.R. Labs, fearing the worst.

And somehow, although she can’t even remember the route she had taken, she’d made it there. She held breath and felt a rushing in her ears as she turned the now familiar corner where she knew that he’d be if he was—if he wasn’t—

She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. But then she rounded the corner and there he was, looking fairly beat-up but awake and alert and _smiling_ at something Cisco was saying, Caitlin just finishing patching him up, and she’d nearly tripped over her feet running over to him.

“ _Barry. Allen._ ” she growled, stopping in front of where he was laying and towering over him, narrowly restraining herself from attacking him with a hug. She leaned down so that her face was inches from his, her breath tickling his cheek.

“Iris, I’m f—” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss. He looked stunned for a moment, but she wasn’t stopping there.

“You—are— _so—_ lucky—you’re—not—dead,” she huffed angrily in between more kisses, planting them all over his face, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and finally giving him one last, long one on the lips. Before he could deepen it, she pulled back, leaving him blinking in confusion. 

She cradled his face in her hands, squishing his cheeks a bit, and glared at him as best she could. An effect that, all things considered, was probably lost when he met her gaze, his eyes bright and excited, and she felt the corners of her lips twitch, desperate to smile.

“Why?” He gave her a cheeky a grin, still a little dazed, “Because you’d kill me if I was?”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, playfully punching his shoulder. She didn’t mean for it to actually hurt, but she also didn’t take into account that he wasn’t fully healed yet, and immediately felt guilty for the little moan of pain it elicited. Still, she supposed he more or less deserved it for scaring her like that.

His hand found hers and gripped it tight, and he gave her a shaky smile.

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily,” he laughed, bringing her hand up to his face to brush his lips against her fingers, to kiss the shiny new ring that had taken residence there.

Normally, she’d tease him back, but at the moment she was just too relieved.

“So, Barry,” she forced her voice to sound lighthearted, as if heart wasn’t still racing in her chest, not yet fully recovered from her panic. “You still up for date night?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned, before looking down at his beat-up body. “But…”

He tried rolling his shoulders, and then his neck, and found that the pain was already subsiding. 

“Give me…an hour,” he said, before testing out his legs, attempting to stretch them while still laying down, and wincing at the movement. “Wait, scratch that. Give me two. And a half.”  

Iris ran her fingers through his hair and smiled at him, shaking her head fondly.

“Nah, you need to rest. We can just order take-in tonight. Seriously, take your time, however long you need to heal,” she insisted, pulling up a chair from behind her to sit down next to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	23. High School Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Wanna dance?"

He swirls the ice around in his glass moodily with his pinky finger, occasionally shooting glances towards the dance floor, his eyes always finding her with ease. She’s like a magnet, easily drawing his attention no matter where she is in the crowd. Like his focus is lightning and she’s the lightning rod, always has been. But anyway–he’s being dramatic. It’s just that it’s nearly impossible to take his eyes off of her right now, tonight, when she’s looking like this. It’s always sort of a struggle for him to take his eyes off her whenever they’re in the same room, actually, but tonight is a little different. Tonight is even worse. 

Because she’s in this agonizingly tight floor-length emerald-green gown and her hair is swept away from her face in an elegant ponytail and she looks so happy and so radiant dancing and laughing and twirling this way and that. 

He had known she’d look amazing in it. It’s not like it had been a surprise, because a) she looked good in just about everything, and b) he had been there with her when she had gotten it. She had dragged her with him to help her pick out the perfect prom dress, insisting that he give her his most honest opinions, and he’d only very weakly protested, because in reality he hadn’t minded at all. It was hard, though, when everyone assumed he was Iris’s date, cooed over him for being “such a supportive boyfriend” as she made her way through each store, piling dress after dress into his arms. Some of the places they’d been to had even tried to get him to buy matching ties before he could finally convince them he was Just A Friend. Yeah, not fun. 

Iris had also deemed him Supremely Unhelpful anyway, because nearly every dress she modeled for him and asked his opinion on he’d just trip over his words, blush a lot, and insist that she looked “beautiful” or “amazing” or “really great,” or, her favorite, “wow”. She’d laugh and roll her eyes and tell him “I get that you’re trying to be nice, Bear, but you can’t say that for every dress I try on. That defeats the whole point of picking the best one. I won’t be offended if you’re honest.”

Except he _had_ been being honest, really, because she’d looked perfect no matter what she was wearing. Still, looking at her now, he thinks that this one had definitely been the best choice, after all. Green really is her color. And then–shit, she’s excusing herself from her date, she’s making her way over to wear he’s sitting, and he quickly averts his attention to the table right in front of him, refusing to lift his gaze out of embarrassment and the fear that she’ll catch him staring.

He’s really starting to wish he hadn’t turned down Larry Fisher’s offer to sample his special spiked punch.

“Please don’t tell me you’re planning on drinking that. That is sooo unsanitary.” 

He figures it’s safe to look up again at the sound of her voice, and he lifts his gaze to meet hers. It’s all he can do not to be too obvious as he sucks in a deep breath, because it’s one thing to admire her from afar, but up close like this, well… _Focus, Barry_. He tells himself. Right. Focus. Don’t give anything away. He dips his fingers in the glass one last time to clear his head, lifts them away and proceeds to flick the cold water at her. “Barry!” she squeals and swats his arm, and he just laughs and then sticks out his tongue. “You’re going to ruin my dress!”

“It’s just _water_ , Iris,” he rolls his eyes, “And I’ll have you know my hands are perfectly clean, thank-you-very-much.”

“You sure about that? You did bring _Becky Cooper_ as your date. I’m not so sure they’re clean if you’ve had them all over–” 

“Iris!” He yelps, turning red, whipping his head quickly back and forth to make sure no one else is close enough to hear her. He relaxes a bit when he’s sure no one is around to eavesdrop, but he can still feel his cheeks burning.

Iris laughs and shakes her head at him. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Sort of. Maybe.” Her eyes flicker to the empty seat next to him, and she raises an eyebrow in question. “Speaking of the devil…where is Becky?”

Barry shrugs unconcernedly. “She bailed when I told her I didn’t want to dance. Wasn’t too happy with me. She’s probably over there somewhere,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely to the dance floor. He dully notes how easy it had been for him to seek Iris out in the crowd, but Becky is just another face loss within the mass of people swaying to the beat. He almost feels guilty. Almost.

“Oh. That’s…well…that’s…” Barry watches as Iris squints towards the dance floor and purses her lips, like she’s fighting to hold something back. He rolls his eyes again. 

“Just say it, Iris. I can see it all over your face.”

“Fine. _I told you so I told you she would do this,_ ” she says all in one breath, like it’s a weight off her chest, like she’s been holding it in for a while. Which, he supposes, she has. For some reason, his relationship had never quite received the Iris West stamp of approval. “I _told_ you she was a nightmare.”

“I mean, I can’t really blame her,” Barry concedes, and he supposes the reason he’s not upset that the girl he’s sort-of dating has more-or-less abandoned him for the night to dance with other guys has a lot to do with the fact that he doesn’t really care. “I’m not really much fun at these kinds of things, anyway. I wouldn’t want her to be stuck with me all night at this table. Like, seriously, _I_ don’t even want to be stuck with me all night at this table. It’s good she’s having fun, though.”

Iris huffs and puts a hand on her hip, and he can’t help the warm feeling bubbling in his chest at how offended she is on his behalf. “Barry Allen. How many times do I have to tell you not to sell yourself short like that? Any girl would be lucky to spend the night hanging out with such an amazing guy as you. It’s her loss.”

He ducks his head, but he can’t hide the smile spreading across his face like it always does when she gives him one of her pep-talks. Plus, coming from her, even if it isn’t true it still means a whole lot. “You’re just saying that. Seriously, people come to prom to dance and have fun, not mope at a table by themselves. It’s perfectly understandable that she bailed.”

Iris huffs disapprovingly, and he watches as something lights up in her eyes, knowing from experience that it means she’s just gotten an idea. “Well, you don’t have to sit here all by yourself, then. Come on, wanna dance?” 

“Did you not just hear me when I told you what I said to Becky? I don’t dance. And you know that already.”

Iris waves a dismissive, perfectly manicured hand at him. “Let me rephrase–do you wanna dance _with me_? And besides, that’s because Becky gave up on you too easily. You know I would never do that.”

“Really now?” Barry raises an eyebrow at her, as she continues to tap her foot and regard him expectantly. 

“Oh, come on. I know you said no to her but I’m talking about dancing with me _,_ your best friend in the whole wide world, not Beck- _eww_. We’ll make it fun. You know you want to.” 

And yeah, that’s an important distinction. Because his resistance has always been significantly lower in just about everything when it comes to her. So it’s only really half-heartedly that he shakes his head, and Iris must sense that he doesn’t really mean it, because she grins at him knowingly and grabs his hand, tugging at it to get him up out of his seat. 

“Iriiiis,” he whines, but he’s not really putting up much of a fight, and it doesn’t take long for him to heave a long-suffering sigh and stand up along with her, his legs protesting from sitting down for so long. “Alright, fine. Lead the way.” 

Her grin widens and she pulls him along with her to the dance floor. He stumbles a bit at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to fall easily in step behind her. And, of course, because he’s literally got the worst luck in the world, when she pulls him to a stop in front of her at the edge of the crowd so that they’re both bathed in the light from the flashing lights above and everything comes into focus, he realizes that the previous song has just ended and one of those infamous slow songs has just started. _Great. Fabulous_. Why do these sort of things always happen to him? 

Iris seems pretty unfazed by the abrupt change in tempo, though–she just laughs it off and rests a hand on his shoulder, grabbing his opposite hand pressing their arms together, pretending to waltz.

“Are you…are you sure you’re date won’t mind…?” he asks, because literally everyone else around them are couples, and he’s pretty sure that that’s what this particular song is meant for. 

“Nah,” Iris laughs, and whether it’s true or not Barry finds he doesn’t really care, anyway. “He’ll live. Besides, we’re just having fun, right? It’s still dancing. I finally got you up out of your seat–I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Barry shakes his head fondly as Iris guides him around the dance floor, pretending to dip him and making him play along, completely off-beat with the music and sticking out like a sore thumb amidst all the happily swaying couples around them. He knows people are staring, but after a while he doesn’t really care. If Becky is glaring at him, he doesn’t notice. If Iris’s date is glaring at him, he doesn’t notice–he’s too wrapped up in her. And it _is_ prettyfun, after all.

As the song comes to and end, fading into something much more up-beat, she rests a hand against his chest and looks up at him imploringly, the light dancing in her eyes. “I should’ve asked before–I feel bad. I was the one who convinced you to come. Are you really having a miserable time tonight?” she asks, grabbing his hand and giving it a little squeeze, and from this close he can see the little crease in her forehead as the corners of her lips turn down in concern. 

He grins and holds the hand she’s got in his a little tighter, lifts it along with his so that it’s over her head as he spins her around underneath it, smile widening at the surprised little laugh she lets out. She stumbles a little in her heels, dizzy, when she comes to a stop in front of him, but he catches her easily. There’s really no other answer he can think to give when she’s beaming at him like that, when she’s this close and she’s gripping his arm and he sort of wants to stay like this forever. And so he answers her truthfully. 

“Not anymore.”


	24. Happy Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: stomach kiss

She’s lounging with her hip against the kitchen counter, waiting for her coffee to finish brewing—a bad habit she needs to break, really, considering it’s past dinner time and she really shouldn’t be drinking coffee right now to begin with. She’s so absorbed in her thoughts, her heart racing in excitement, her nerves off the charts, that she doesn’t even hear him come in. She does, however, feel it when he sneaks up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist, making her jump, announcing his sudden presence with an innocent, cheery little _“Hello!”_

“Barry! I _told_ you to stop doing that. You’re going to give me a heart attack, one day.” She twists around in his arms so that she’s facing him, swatting him accusingly on the shoulder.

“Sorry,” he grins sheepishly, kissing her on the cheek. “How was your day? Anything interesting happen at work?” She swallows down the urge to blurt out what she’s dying to tell him right then and there, forces herself to do it right. She waves a hand in the air, feigning nonchalance. 

“Oh, you know, the usual. Working on the same article from the other day—no new stories yet this week. How was crime-fighting tonight?” she quips, because he’s still in his suit, his hair messy and ruffled just the way she likes it right after he’s pushed the hood back. He must have just gotten done patrolling the city, the way he does every night after work to make sure things are safe. Sometimes she’s afraid he’ll run himself dry—no pun intended. But he insists, and she’s long since learned that arguing with him about it isn’t going to get him to stop.

“The usual,” he echoes her words with a smirk. “Actually, it’s been really quiet recently. I’m starting to think that something big and bad’s going to happen soon, you know, just to make up for these past few weeks of peace. It feels weird—like, it’s making me anxious.” He starts to frown, and she resolves that she has to tell him now. She can’t have him frowning on a day like today, not considering the news she has for him.

“Well, I don’t know if something bad is going to happen in the city or not, but I’ve got something to tell you that might take your mind off of that. Like, really good news. About that thing we’ve been talking about.” She fights really hard to keep the smile off her face, to keep her expression neutral. She doesn’t want to give it away with a look—she wants him to be properly surprised.

“About putting Bolt through doggie boot camp? Oh come on, Iris, please don’t tell me you signed him up—I keep telling you he’s not _that_ out of shape,” he gestures to the dog lounging lazily at their feet, and it wags its tail weakly at hearing its name, looking at them with big, sad puppy-eyes. “And look at that face—you’ve hurt his feelings.”

“Not that,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “I meant the other thing. The really big thing. The thing we’ve been hoping for for, like, months.”

He scratches the back of his neck, uncomprehending. “What other thing…?”

She raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief, and he stares at her fer a few seconds in honest confusion before his gaze flickers downward and then back up to her face, with dawning realization.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide, “ _Oh my God_. No way. Nowaynowaynowaynoway—”

“Barry, calm down,” she grins in amusement, laying a hand on his arm and feeling the buzzing of his skin underneath her fingertips. “You’re doing that thing again.” She still doesn’t think she’ll ever really get used to the fact that the phrase ‘vibrating with excitement’ quite literally means ‘ _vibrating_ with excitement’, in his case.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathes, and when his face comes back into focus his smile is so big it’s a wonder it can even fit on his face. She’s pretty sure she looks about the same, right now. Her cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so wide. Barry takes in a deep breath, trying to get a grip on himself. “Are you…are you serious?”

“Would I lie about something like this?” 

“No…no, you wouldn’t,” he rubs a hand down his face, still struggling to believe that this is real, _this is happening_. He claps a hand over his mouth, muffling his delighted laughter. “Oh my God, Iris, you’re…we’re…we’re gonna be parents!”

She nods, beaming at his enthusiasm and her own, and she feels the tears start to spill over—although of course Barry’s already beaten her to that. He wraps his arms around her and lifts her into the air, twirling her around the kitchen in excitement. 

_“We’re gonna be parents!”_

She laughs along with him, and Bolt jumps around their heels, barking loudly, unsure of the cause of all the sudden commotion but eager to be a part of it. When Barry finally stops twirling her, she finds that the room is still spinning—but in a good way. He doesn’t put her down right away, but instead carries her to the couch and sets her down gently there, still grinning ear-to-ear.

He lifts up her shirt a little, revealing the skin there, and shoots her another ecstatic grin before trailing butterfly kisses all over her stomach, leaving traces of the curve of his smile against her skin.

“Bear, that tickles,” she giggles, and at the sound of her voice he stops, looking up at her through those long eyelashes, his eyes bright and filled with glee and shining with unshed tears. He grins and then he makes his way up to her lips, and she’s laughing as he’s kissing her and he’s smiling into it, and she’s so goddamn happy. This is one of those moments that she wants to savor forever.

“We’re finally building a family together Iris, can you believe it? _We made a person._ ”

She laughs as she rests her forehead against his. “Don’t let Bolt hear you say that. I think he’s convinced we already have—I mean, he’s sort of our first child, in a way.”

She doesn’t think it’s possibly for Barry’s smile to get any bigger, but it does. “Of course, how could I forget,” he says, and right on cue, the dog is there next to them, nudging his arm for attention. He absentmindedly pats it on the head, but his focus is still all on her. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you, Mrs. West-Allen?”

She cups his face in her hands and kisses him again, her lips curling into a smile against his. “Only every day.”

“Well, only because it’s true. I really do. So much.” He pauses, and then leans down to place another kiss on her stomach. “ _And we’re going to be parents._ ”


	25. What Friends Are For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

He feels rather than hears her come into the room, taking in the way the couch cushions sink a little under her weight as she sits down next to him, without even having to look up from the book he’s reading.

“Move your feet, nerd,” she sighs, attempting to shove them away. He’s sitting with his back pressed up against the armrest and he’s got his knees pulled close to his chest, his book resting in his lap, but his legs are still so long that they’re poking her legs and squishing her on other side of the couch.

“No,” he says petulantly, turning the page in his book and keeping his gaze fixed resolutely on the writing in front of him. They mess with each other like this all the time—usually it ends in a shoving match, and one or both of them will end up on the floor. He’s already mentally preparing himself for war.

When she responds, the anger in her tone catches him off guard. “Barry, _move_ ,” she practically growls, “I am _not_ in the mood for this today.”

He blinks in surprise, gently setting his book down on the coffee table in front of them and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, giving her space. He finally gets a good look at her and—well, she doesn’t look _bad_. Iris never really looks bad to him, it’s kind of something he’s long since come to accept, but…she does look tired, and maybe even a little bit sick. And really, really put-out.

“What’s up with you? You’re in a…peppy…mood today,” he quips, but his voice is genuinely concerned. It’s not hard to pick up on when something’s off with her, just like it takes her less than a second to figure out when something’s going on with him. They know each other too well.

“Nothing,” she grumbles moodily, sinking back further into the couch, wincing a little as she crosses her arms.

He knits his eyebrows together in concern. “Iris, there’s definitely something. You haven’t acted this cranky since Joe accidentally ate the last of those brownies we baked for your cheer-leading team’s bake sale.” He pursues his lips and waits for an answer, and when she groans in response and uncrosses her arms to wrap them tightly around her middle, his worry grows even more. “Are you hurt? Is your stomach bothering you?”

She turns her face away from him and mutters something under her breath, too quiet for him to hear. 

“Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.”

She mumbles it again, this time a little louder, but still too low for him to make out. “Iris—” he starts, but before he can ask again she claps her hands over her face in mortification. “I have _cramps_ , Barry, okay? Oh my God,” she hisses, the words muffled by her palms but finally loud enough to understand.

“Oh,” he blinks, confused at first, and then it dawns on him. “ _Oh._ That _._ ”

The thing about growing up together is that, well…you grow up together. Which includes, for both of them, all the ugly and painful little bits that come along with puberty. Eleven is prime-time for that kind of thing, and as a result, she’d been there to witness his growth spurts, his gangly limbs that he still hadn’t really quite grown into, his occasional break-outs, his general awkwardness first-hand. And then there are…other things, the things he’s sure she knows about but they never discussed, including his increasing awareness as to just how unfortunate it is to live in the same house as the girl he loved when…yeah. 

Anyway, the point was that he’d been there to witness her fair share of growing-up, too—but nothing had been quite as painful as when she’d first gotten her period, right around after she’d turned twelve. It had been a chaotic week with only he and Joe to help her through it—although Joe had been surprisingly on top of things, and for Barry’s part he’d spent hours in the library researching and reading up on it and relaying all that information to her (the science behind it was actually quite fascinating, really—a sentiment that she’d nearly punched him for when he’d excitedly expressed it to her) as well as buying her lots of chocolate. Luckily, they’d all made it out alive. They were usually pretty open about things, but just like there were topics about his own personal stuff that he’d rather avoid, this was one that she’d never really been comfortable talking about, either. And two years later, out of middle school and in to high school, it still hadn’t stopped being an awkward conversation. 

“Are they…bad?”

She peeks out at him from behind her fingers, and he can see her roll her eyes. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so. I’ve already taken two Motrin, but they haven’t kicked in yet.”

He takes a deep breath, wondering what he can do to help. She doesn’t usually bring it up, like, ever, and when she does he knows it’s bad. He wrings his hands together nervously, trying to come up with some way to help, and when he speaks he speaks softly, careful not to exacerbate her anger, afraid he might say something that’ll annoy her. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

He lets out a sigh of relief when she drops her hands, when her gloomy expression lifts a little at the offer and a slow smile starts to make its way across her face. “Oooh, would you really? You’re the best, Bear.” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “’Course. _And_ I’ll let you have the rest of my ice-cream from the other night after, too. I think there’s still some left in the freezer.”

“Thanks, Barry.” She beams at him, scoots a little closer, and then without warning, lays down on her back—right across his legs.

She lets her eyelids fall shut and winces again as a particularly bad cramp passes, sighing contentedly when his hands find her stomach. “Do your worst.”

He nods even though she can’t see it, adds a strained, _‘I’ll try’_ , and gulps loudly. It takes a lot to keep his hands from shaking as he kneads soothing little circles around her tummy, all the while watching the pleased little smile that’s playing on her lips, thanking God that her eyes are closed so that she can’t see how _red_ his face must be right now.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks to himself. _Really didn’t think this one through, did you?_

But she is smiling, and it looks like he’s making her feel at least a little better. He can endure all this—the burning in his cheeks, the butterflies in his stomach, the uncomfortable awareness of her on top of him every time she fidgets and the praying that his body won’t betray him, the overall feeling of wanting to explode—for as long as he needs to, as long as it means he’s making her happy.


	26. Unfriendly Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: I beat you at Mario Kart and now I’ve been banished to the couch for the night AU

“Come on…come on…yes!” Barry cheers as he drives through the shiny question-marked box and is instantly rewarded with three glorious spiky red shells, slowly circling his player–Mario, of course, it’s always Mario. Iris teases him relentlessly about his trusty go-to choice, because  _‘God, could you be any more boring, Barry?_ , any yet she’s _always_ picking Luigi to match, so she guesses she’s not much better, in the long run. “ _Perfect._ ”

He grips his controller tight and goes in for the kill, one shell easily finding it’s target as he zooms past Peach and then the next hitting its mark and leaving Toad spinning sideways off the track. And then he’s in third and she’s still in first, with just a computer-player Yoshi between them, and he’s close enough that it’s mildly concerning but Iris is _so close_ to the finish,and he wouldn’t dare think about using that last red shell on her–would he? She huffs as she turns the corner to the final home-stretch, the finish line clearly in sight.  _He better fucking not._

“Whatever. I’m still gonna win,” Iris says, feigning indifference and zeroing in on the finish.

“You sure about that?” Barry smirks, and Iris glances sideways at him, narrowing her eyes. When she sees the evil grin he’s wearing and the determined look in his eye, her eyes widen in horror, and when she returns her attention back to the TV she can see him gaining on her on her side of the screen. And sure enough, he’s just passed Yoshi and he’s still got that one red shell left, circling ominously around his kart.

“ _No_ –no, Barry, you _wouldn’t,_ ” she pleads, and for a split second she thinks that maybe it’s not going to matter after all, anyway, because she’s about five feet from the finish line and she’ll make it there in time, of course she will–when his last red shell hits her from behind. Suddenly Luigi is spinning off course and then skidding to a stop and Mario is zooming past her, crossing the line into first place, and by the time she recuperates to cross that last tiny stretch she’s been surpassed by everyone including fucking _Bowser,_ landing her in last place. She tosses her control to the side, springs to her feet to shut the TV off, and rounds on him, her face a barely contained mask of fury.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“ _Leave_. Immediately.”

“And go where…?” he trails off when he catches sight of her expression, and figures it’s best not to argue. He knows her. He knows that look. He’s–well, he’s in deep shit. “I–ah, okay then…”

Just as he makes to push himself up from the couch, resigning himself to his fate, Iris holds a hand up to stop him, putting a hand on his chest to push him back down.

“Wait–on second thought, stay here.”

Before he can respond she’s storming away, trudging up the stairs and stomping her feet with deliberate force, and he sinks back into the couch, waiting, completely bewildered.

When she gets upstairs, Iris angrily yanks the door to the closet next to the bathroom open and pulls out the fleece throw blanket adorned with little lightning bolts that she’d gotten Barry as a joke for his last birthday along with a spare pillow, and slams the door shut behind her. She slowly makes her way back down the stairs, taking her sweet time and purposely leaving him on edge. When she finally makes her way back over to the couch, he’s looking at her in equal parts trepidation and bemusement, like a criminal awaiting their sentence. Which, in her opinion, really isn’t too far off the mark, considering what she’s holding him accountable for.

She shoves the blanket and pillow in his face just as he’s about to open his mouth to ask, and taps her foot impatiently. He blinks, staring incredulously at the items in her hands and then back at her, comprehension dawning on his face. “Iris–Iris, you can’t be serious.”

She doesn’t say anything, just scowls and shakes her arm a bit, letting some of the blanket slip out of grip and onto his lap, refusing to budge until he finally heaves a sigh and takes it from her outstretched hand.

“You did this to yourself, Barry,” she says ruefully, casting him a final, bitter glare before spinning on her heel and heading back upstairs, to their bedroom and to the blissfully comfortable queen bed that she’s kicking his ass out of for the night.

They’d meant to just play a round of Mario Kart before bed to de-stress from the day (ha. right. if anything it had only made her _more_ stressed), so she’s already ready to turn in for the night and clad in her pajamas, ready to crawl into bed and quietly seethe in her anger alone until exhaustion takes over and carries her off to sleep. Except it doesn’t.

Seconds, minutes, hours trickle by (she’s lost track) as she lays awake, rolling over this way and that–on her side, on her belly, on her back, in strange and not entirely comfortable positions where she’s got her arms and legs bent and positioned at weird angles. The sad truth is that she never sleeps well when he’s not there with her, when he’s not holding her and when she doesn’t have his presence to keep her relaxed, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against her ear, and quite frankly the bed just feels empty. Empty and cold and she just doesn’t feel _whole_ –a feeling borne from all the times where he’d be out all night long risking his life in some way or another, all the times where he wouldn’t come home and she’d have to lay awake wondering and hoping and praying that he was still out there and that he was okay and that he was _alive_ , terrified of the prospect of losing him. And so she craves his touch, the warmth of his body pressed up against hers, and with good reason.

Finally, after what feels like forever of tossing and turning and shivering from the lack of Barry’s familiar body heat–he runs warm, with his increased metabolism and all, and she’s sort of grown accustomed to it–she groans and pulls the covers up over her head, resolving herself to the fact that she’s just not going to get any sleep like this, no matter how much she doesn’t want to admit it. With another dejected sigh she throws the covers off of her and swings her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing her eyes before standing on tired, wobbly legs to make her way out of the room. She creeps down the stairs as quietly as possible, nearly tripping over a stray pair of shoes–hers, probably–and banging her shins against the coffee table as she attempts to feel her way through the dark and towards the couch where she can just barely make out the faint outline of Barry’s sleeping form.

Barry is either a super-light sleeper or he sleeps like a rock, there’s really no in between, and it’s completely depending on the day. She hopes for his sake and for hers that tonight it’s the latter, because he looks so peaceful and she really doesn’t want to wake him up, and she also really doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. So she clambers up next to him on the couch as stealthily as she can, careful not to jar him, lifting the blanket up a bit and crawling underneath it so that it’s covering the both of them.

The second she lays down next to him, the moment he registers her presence, he drapes an arm across her waist and pulls her close. His eyes remain firmly shut all the while, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like even in sleep his brain and his body are hard-wired to respond to hers. She twists around in his arms and wraps her own around his middle, tucking her head underneath his chin and scooting even closer, pressing right up against him so that she won’t be in danger of falling off the edge of the couch. She sighs contentedly, and she can already feel herself on the brink of sleep when he starts to speak, startling her back awake. Even though his voice is thick with sleep she can practically _hear_ him grinning.

“Changed your mind then, huh?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles tiredly into his chest, letting her eyelids flutter shut and relaxing back into his arms. “I was _cold_.”

“Mhm-hm.”

She feels his laughter, a gentle, comforting rumble against her ear, the sound travelling all the way from her head down to her toes and filling her up with both warmth and irritation.

“…I hate you.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, just kisses her forehead, his lips curling into a smile against her skin, and tightens his hold on her. She’s trying so hard to stay annoyed with him, but she’s tired and she’s so comfortable here and she loves this stupid, first-place-stealing boy so goddamn much, and her irritation is already fading fast. In the morning, she’ll make sure she gives him hell for it, but for now she just lets herself be lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart, the warmth radiating off his skin, the tenderness in his voice when he laughs and says “Love you, too.”


	27. Natural Talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “Come over here and make me.” and “Teach me how to play?”

Barry still doesn’t own a car. It’s not that he doesn’t know _how_ to drive, but he insists that there really isn’t any point when he can just run everywhere, and it’d just be wasting money. Which is a stupid argument, really, because in all honesty they’re both pretty well off in their respective fields, but it’s true that he really doesn’t need one (and on the rare occasions that he does he just borrows hers). Besides, she thinks it has more to do with the fact that he can’t push the car past 50 MPH in the city, not to mention all the traffic he’d have to deal with, and he doesn’t do slow. 

The point being, it’s never the presence or absence of a car in the driveway that lets her know that he’s home. Even though it’s usually later than her, because in addition to work at CCPD he’s got his whole ‘saving the city’ thing to take care of, whenever he does beat her back he always tries to make up for it by making her favorite foods for dinner. When she gets off work late and walks through the front door, immediately catching a whiff of something delicious, the lingering scent of a home-cooked meal, that’s how she knows he’s there. 

Her stomach growls in anticipation, and she’s so hungry and exhausted that she almost makes a beeline straight for the kitchen. But just as she locks the door behind her and shrugs out of her coat, she hears a frustrated _‘Oh, come on!’_   from the living room, and she abruptly changes course, her curiosity momentarily outweighing her appetite. 

She leans against the door-frame, wondering what on earth Barry could be doing, and whether or not he’s remembered to enforce the twins’ _‘no-you-can’t-stay-up-late-tonight-you-have-school-tomorrow-and-that’s-final’_ curfew this time around. (Although she suspects he more than likely doesn’t actually _forget_ –he just caves easily when it comes to their kids. He’s soft like that, always has been. And she’s not strict, really, but they definitely balance each other out well, always have.) 

Her wandering gaze finds him sitting on the couch–which is odd in and of itself, considering he never manages to sit still for long when he’s by himself–a controller gripped so tightly in his hands his knuckles are turning white, staring intently at the TV before him and–playing a videogame? The sight is so strange it makes her snicker, which must alert him to her presence, because although he doesn’t turn around he inclines his head upward a bit and calls out to her over his shoulder.

“Dinner’s on the table. I left a plate out for you, but you might need to heat it up–it’s probably cold now.”

Instead of eating right away, she makes her way to the couch, stands behind it and drapes her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“Hmm?” he cocks an eyebrow, distracted, and Iris laughs at the intensity with which he’s staring at the screen, the force with which he’s jamming down the buttons. “Oh, uh, Dawn couldn’t get past this level in her game–you know, the one we got her for Christmas–so I promised her I’d try to beat it for her.”

She glances at the empty plate on the coffee table and then takes in the tired look in his eye, the way it’s starting to twitch like it does when he’s been stationary for too long, the determined set of his jaw and way he’s bouncing his knee and fidgeting his legs. This is his  _‘I am not letting this go’_ look. Which means he’s more than likely been at this for a while.

“Ah. And how long ago was that, exactly?”

He finally turns around to glare at her, catching the familiar amusement coloring her tone, and the result is a _crash_ and a _boom_ followed by a sad-sounding  _‘Game Over’_ as the level he’s supposed to be beating comes to a premature end. 

“A while, okay? She and Don are asleep now. Or at least they should be. They were when I last checked. But _look_ –” he says, gesturing angrily to the screen, “You made me lose! I really had it that time. I was so close.”

“Uh huh.” Iris raises an eyebrow, entirely unconvinced. “Sure. How about you teach me how to play? Let me try and see if I have any better luck. You looked like you were getting a little frustrated there, honey, I think it’s time for a break.”

“No,” Barry sighs, pressing the ‘start new game’ button, “No, I have to do this.”

She heaves a sigh of her own and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, please? Now you’ve got me curious. It can’t be _that_ hard. I mean, it’s a kids game, right?”

“No,” Barry repeats petulantly, and deftly yanks the controller away as Iris tries to make a grab for it from behind. “I mean, yes, but it shouldn’t be–it’s ridiculously difficult. Anyway, I’ve almost got it, I swear.” 

Iris pouts and crosses her arms, holds them tight against her chest. “Admit it,” she huffs, “You’re just afraid I’ll beat it when you can’t.”

“Oh, that is absolutely what I’m afraid of. Now shush, I’m trying to concentrate.”

His admission mollifies her for a good forty-five seconds before she loses patience again, because it’s clear he’s not making any progress, and he probably won’t be any time soon. She lets out an exaggerated sigh and flicks him on the back of the head, repeatedly. He doesn’t even blink. The last of her patience drains away and she stomps her foot in frustration.

“Barry, seriously, just hand it over already! Watching you struggle through this is honestly painful. I probably would have already figured it out myself in the time you’ve been refusing to give this up.”

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” The character he’s apparently in charge of just barely swerves out of the way from an oncoming attack–from bananas?–and he curses as it’s HP bar dips into the red. “If you want me to give it to you, you’re going to have to come over here and make me.”

Which is decidedly the wrong thing to say, because that is exactly what she does. His back is toward her and the couch is between them, so he can’t see the devilish grin that slowly makes its way across her face, the dangerous spark of an idea in her eye. Although he certainly takes notice of her a moment later, when she’s rounded the couch and standing right in front of him, grinning mischievously and blocking his view. He tries to crane his neck to see past her, but she just follows his movements, blocking him this way and that as he attempts to find an opening to see what he’s doing on the screen.

“Hey, quit it! You’re sabotaging my very near-successful attempt, here! Iris–I can’t– _see_ –”

And then, to put the icing on the cake, she climbs on top of him, makes sure she has his full attention as she straddles him, taking pleasure in the deep, shaky breath he sucks in as she starts to trail her fingers up his thigh.

“Iris, come on–” he says weakly, voice strained and heavy, barely attempting to look past her anymore as she leans in and kisses his neck… “–stop that, this is a very serious matter and you’re distracting–” …she makes her way up his jaw, smiles against his lips, tugs at his belt with the hand that’s not silently creeping toward the controller…“–okay, wait, on second thought, don’t stop that–hey!”

Barry splutters indignantly as Iris gracefully plucks the controller out of his slackened grip. Honestly, for a guy who always has to be on high alert, ready to deal with anything at a moment’s notice, he’s so easily distractible. When it comes to the right things, at least. Actually, just when it comes to _her_ at all _,_ really–a fact she’s glad to know hasn’t dimmed one bit over all the years they’ve been together. She rolls over and flops down next to him, the controller safely in one hand, a grin spreading across her face as she pumps a triumphant fist in the air with the other. 

“Victory!”

The look on Barry’s face as he rolls his eyes is a tormented mixture of annoyance and reluctant admiration. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not going to beat this level, because you play dirty. And cheaters never win, Iris.”

“Whatever.” She ignores him and presses the start button, tucking her feet beneath her legs and sitting cross-legged, shifting a bit so that she’s comfortable. She flashes him a teasing smirk, relishing in her success, and leans out of reach of his arm as he attempts to elbow her in the side. A playful laugh escapes her lips when she catches him sticking his tongue out at her in the periphery of her vision, and she returns the sentiment by flipping him the bird, eyes glued to the screen all the while. “Sulk all you want, Allen–it’s my time to shine.”

In the end, it takes her two tries to complete the level compared to his twenty-three failed attempts. He tries really hard to stay annoyed, but mostly he’s just impressed, because really, and quote, _‘when is he ever not in awe of his beautiful, talented wife?’_ Of course, just because he’s impressed and just because she appreciates his flattery–which he so wonderfully expresses in more ways than one (really, by the time they finally make it off the couch and she finally gets to her dinner it’s cold and hard as a rock)–doesn’t mean she’s above rubbing it in his face all night, slipping it into conversation whenever she gets the chance, just like she used to do when they were kids. They’re still Barry and Iris, after all, and these kinds of things will never change.


	28. Spin the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “we’ve been best friends for practically our whole lives but you’re a thousand times more popular than me so you dragged me to a big party and now we’re playing spin the bottle and you spin and it lands on me oh crap” au

Contrary to popular belief, the first time he kisses Iris isn’t actually on a shoreline with a tsunami fast approaching and their lives on the line, or some great act of love and passion and mutually recognized feelings in a timeline that technically no longer exists. And likewise, the first time he kisses _anyone_ isn’t Becky Cooper, even though she is his first girlfriend. That spot’s surprisingly reserved by Iris too, their freshman year of high school, on an ordinary Friday night in Nicole Tacker’s basement.  

Transitioning into high school from his painfully awkward middle school years, Barry didn’t really have friends. He had acquaintances, sure, and he had Iris. Unlike him, however, Iris had other friends of her own–and lots of them. Which was understandable, really–it was sort of impossible _not_ to like Iris, to want to get to know her, be her friend. Fact of the matter was that Iris, being her peppy and popular self, got invited to things. A lot of things. And he did not.

Which he was fine with, honestly. Going out really wasn’t his thing anyway, and he preferred to stay at home and read or conduct science experiments in the garage or watch TV and–okay, maybe he did get a little bit lonely sometimes, a little bit jealous of Iris’s social life compared to his own nonexistent one. The thing was, it wasn’t like Iris didn’t try to include him. She did, she really did, he just didn’t want to drag her down with him, and so every time she tried to get him to come with her to any sort of social gathering, he usually declined. Except for the Friday night the weekend after his first big calculus exam, to a much-talked about party at Nicole Tacker’s house that she’d dragged him to, refusing to take no as an answer, insisting that he needed to get out and _relax_.

“But I wasn’t invited, Iris,” he’d insisted, sighing in exasperation. She’d just grinned at him and shaken her head fondly.

“Doesn’t matter. I was, and you’re coming with me.” Which, all things considered, was probably true. If Iris brought him, he’d be allowed in for sure. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to, because he wouldn’t really know anyone there other than Iris and he didn’t want to trail her around all night like some lost puppy. But then she’d given him The Look, the one she knew he could never refuse and that she almost never hesitated to take advantage of, and he’d caved, of course.

And that’s how he ended up in Nicole’s basement, sitting cross-legged in a circle of people that he mostly didn’t know, save for Iris seated directly across from him, trapped into playing a game of spin-the-bottle. And how that bottle, when it was his turn to spin it, had spun, and spun, and spun, for an agonizing fifteen seconds before finally landing on the person directly across from him. He checked again, hoping the bottle might have moved in the second he’d looked down and up and back down again in a mixture of dread and anticipation, but nope. Still the person sitting across from him. Which was Iris. Iris was sitting across from him. Holy shit,  _Iris._

He lifted his gaze from the bottle, mouth falling open in disbelief, only to find her staring right back at him with wide-eyes and a similarly baffled expression.

“I–no, no, I can’t,” he stuttered, forcing out the words with great difficulty, because he _wanted_ to more than anything. How many times had he fantasized about sharing a kiss with Iris West? Far too many too count, and far too often. It was rare that a day passed by that he didn’t at least _think_ about it, especially seeing her as much as he did. But not like this. Not with everyone watching, not when she didn’t want to, not when it wasn’t _real_.

“What, afraid to kiss your friend-sister, or whatever the hell you guys are?” someone chimed in–a person who Barry didn’t know well enough to even recognize their face, let alone their name. One of Iris’s friend’s, maybe.

“I am  _not_ his sister,” Iris snapped, looking thoroughly annoyed. Barry blinked in surprise and snapped his mouth, which he’d just opened, response at the ready and on the tip of his tongue, shut. Iris usually just shrugged comments like that off; she never outright denied it when people said those kinds of things–that was his job.

“I mean, I’m not–we’re not related. At all. We’re just best friends,” she added hastily, staring intently at the bottle, still pointed straight at her, and Barry wondered why it was suddenly such a big deal that she make sure people know. She never seemed to care, before. He did, of course, for obvious reasons, but he hadn’t thought she had. “And we’re not going to back down that easily. Come on, Barry, let’s show ‘em. It won’t be that bad–I promise you’ll live.”

 _‘I highly doubt that’_ he thought to himself, still struggling to get a grip, because while the thought of kissing Iris was a lot, actually doing it was–well, he didn’t know if he could handle that, to be honest. He’d probably go into shock, or cardiac arrest, or something. 

“I–I don’t know, Iris, are you sure–?”

“Come on, Barry, the rule is that it only has to be three seconds. We can manage. You know how I feel about losing,” she said, giving him a pointed look. He tried to point out that it was technically his turn, not hers, so he’d be the one losing, but whatever words he’d meant to say failed him. Iris was scootching towards him, clearly expecting him to meet her in the middle. And he did, because what choice did he have, shuffling forward on his knees, as Iris answered his unspoken question for him. They came to a stop in front of each other, and she reached a hand out to clamp on his shoulder. “You’re my plus one, dude, so if you lose, I lose by default.”

He gave her a tentative nod of understanding–because Iris was Iris and it made some sort of sense going by her logic–before taking a deep breath, steeling his nerves, and praying for the best. The people in the circle around them cheering them on, telling him to _just do it already_ , were suddenly just background noise as he surged forward, eyes shut tight and going out on a whim–until he missed her mouth entirely and bumped his nose with hers, eliciting a painful little  _‘ouch_ ’ from the both of them.

“Okay, okay, let’s try that again,” Iris laughed, rubbing her nose, as Barry ran a shaky hand across his forehead in mortification. Iris grabbed his hand before he could hide it in his lap, taking it in her own and squeezing it reassuringly. “Here, let me try this time.”

Keeping his eyes open hadn’t been intentional, but once they were like that he found he couldn’t close them, as Iris’s face moved closer and closer. And then before he could prepare himself, before he could even catch his breath, she was kissing him. On the lips. Not a peck on the cheek or a kiss on the forehead like he was accustomed to, but an actual, honest-to-God, mouth-to-mouth kiss. How could he look away when Iris was kissing him, she was kissing him, and her face was so close and so beautiful and he could taste her lips on his and someone, or maybe several someones, was chanting _one-and-two-and-three…and four-and-five…and-six-and-um are they gonna stop soon?-and-seven-and-eight-and-nine-and-ten-and-eleven-and–GUYS! THAT’S ENOUGH YOU CAN STOP NOW IT’S BEEN OVER TEN SECONDS YOU CAN STOP!_

He pulled away from her with an audible little gasp, the room around him, the people he barely knew, the musty smell from the paint peeling off the walls of Nicole’s basement, the music blaring from the speakers propped up on the plastic chair in the corner, all came rushing back, and Iris was still there, as surreal as if felt, only inches away from him.

As she leaned back, he watched her face, transfixed by the length of time it took for her to open her eyes–not immediate, but slow and sweet–, at the little crease between her eyebrows and her slightly parted lips. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, he felt a momentary thrill of hope at the look in her eyes, dazed and filled with awe, much like he imagined his own must be–but it was gone as quick as it came. A blink, and it was gone, replaced with a cool sort of indifference as though she’d felt nothing, and a hint of embarrassment, too. She rocked back on her heels and crinkled her nose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“See, Bar?” she said, letting out a too-loud laugh and giving him a smile he could tell was a little forced. “That wasn’t too awful, was it? Not the end of the world.”

His heart, still thud, thud, thudding away in his chest, suddenly felt as though it had been ripped out and stepped on in all of its pathetic, hopeful glory. This was only ever a game, he reminded himself, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing more. This didn’t count as anything, not to her. And this certainly wasn’t how he wanted or imagined his first kiss would go–which was his fault, really, because he imagined it way too often, with way unrealistic standards, but still. 

Even through the disappointment, the sting of knowing that the kiss meant nothing to more to Iris than it would have had she shared it with anyone else, he couldn’t resist running his tongue over his lips to savor the taste of her strawberry-flavored chapstick, to hold on to it for just a moment longer, to pretend. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus, to get a hold of himself, and followed her lead, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and then wiping his hands on his jeans–not to get rid of the traces of her, but more so because his palms were still sweaty from nerves and the sudden, unexpected heat of the moment.

“No,” he said, forcing a smile of his own. He was only half-lying, really, because while the hot rush of embarrassment at knowing that Iris didn’t and maybe never would feel the same way and the crushing disappointment that followed, kissing Iris in itself had been more than just ‘not awful’, it had been downright incredible. But there was nothing he could do but pick up and move on as he had since he’d first developed this stupid crush in the first place, and then as this stupid crush had just had to go develop into something even more, carrying his unrequited feelings around him like a weight on his shoulders. Except now at least he knew where he stood…but he also knew what it felt like to kiss her now, how it–well. It was a win-lose situation, he guessed. Go figure. “Not the end of the world.”


	29. The Camel's Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: the straw that broke the camel's back

She’s only been living here for three months. Three measly months, and it feels like only yesterday that she’d been unpacking these boxes with a smile on her face and a thrill of anticipation at this exciting new development in her life, at the prospect of sharing a space, a _home_ , with someone she loved–these very same boxes that she now stuffs her belongings in with shaking hands and trembling fingers and a lump in her throat. 

When she’d first come to live with Eddie, she’d tried to ignore the nagging little voice in her head telling her that she had already done that, had already shared that kind of living space with someone who, whether or not she realized it at the time, fit those qualifications–for over _ten years_ , in fact–but that little ball of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach refused to budge. And no matter how hard she tried to make it go away, it still hadn’t budged as time had trickled by, as days became weeks and weeks became months. Thinking about it now made her feel queasy, because the fact remained that despite all her doubt, she’d just moved in here three months ago, a little apprehensive and a lot unsure but ultimately in love and  _happy_ , and now she’s already moving out. And not for the reason she once thought it might be.

Her fingers brush against something as she absentmindedly searches through the drawer in the nightstand, looking for any last loose items of hers that need to go. Her blood runs cold as she scoops the object into her hand, the sharp edges of the tiny little box cutting into her palm as she squeezes it tight, shielding it from view. Without even having to look, she knows what it is, what it must be, and she’s not ready for this, God, not now, not ever, _she’s not ready_.

She forces herself to loosen her grip anyway, and her breath hitches in her throat at the sight of the pale green box resting on her palm. Her heartbeat speeds up and it feels like a block of ice has slipped into her stomach along with the sensation that she’s falling, falling, falling, and it’s not a surprise that she suddenly feels dizzy, like the room is spinning around her, like the ground is about to open up and swallow her whole. 

Slowly, mechanically, as though in a trance, she opens it up, and sure enough, it’s still there. The ring. The ring that Eddie was going to propose to her with, that he’d tried to and then hadn’t, but probably would have tried again after all. The ring that she’ll never wear, won’t ever get the chance, whether or not it would’ve been the right decision. It doesn’t matter anymore, it doesn’t matter what she would’ve said or what he would’ve said or if it would’ve been what she wanted because she’ll never get to make that choice, and Eddie is dead, he’s dead, _he’s dead_. He’s not coming back.

There’s a rushing in her ears as she sinks to the ground, clutching it tightly to her chest, the walls of a bedroom that was only hers for three months closing in around her, her vision going blurry–whether from the tears or from the way her head is spinning she can’t tell. All she knows is that she can’t do this. She can’t do this _alone_ , she can’t, she needs someone who will hold her, reassure her, who won’t leave her side, who will know all the right things to say and who will be patient with her, who will let her cry into their shirt and not care that she’s making a mess out herself and them and–

She needs her best friend. 

With fumbling fingers she fishes her phone out of her pocket, letting the little green box tumble to the ground, and presses a button, blinking away tears and thanking God for speed dial. He picks up on the second ring. The sound of his voice in the midst of all this feels like a warm blanket being draped around her shoulders.

“Hello?”

She takes a deep breath and tries to find the courage to speak, because things between them are still complicated, and while she knows he’s always there for her maybe this is too much too soon because she knows how much he blames himself, and maybe an irrational little part of her blames him, too, even though she knows it’s not his fault. And it’s not like they’ve talked much since it happened, because he seems to think that space is what she wants, what she needs, but it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. Right now, she needs him.

“Barry, I–” she starts, but the words get stuck in her throat, and all that comes out is a sob. She tries her hardest to hold it back but she can’t, and then her breath is coming out in short little gasps and she tries and she tries but  _she can’t fucking stop_.

“Iris? Iris, are you okay?” Barry asks, his voice rising with panic, “What happened? Where are you?”

“I’m–” she stops herself from feeding him a lie he won’t believe, from bottling everything up and pretending to be okay, because he knows her and he can tell when she’s lying (she wishes she could say the same, but now…now’s not the time for that train of thought). “I’m not fine. I’m at my–Eddie’s apartment, packing, because–because I can’t–” She wants to say  _‘stay here any longer’_   or maybe _‘do this alone’_ , but in the end she can’t seem to find the words. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because she knows he’ll understand.

There’s a brief pause, and Iris can picture him running a hand down his face, can imagine the distress in his eyes as clearly as if he’s sitting right in front of her. For a moment, she thinks she might be asking too much, that she’s being selfish, that she shouldn’t have called. But when he speaks again his voice is firm, and her uncertainty melts away.

“I’ll be right over.”

When he hangs up she knows he must be running, and she idly wonders where he is or what he’s dropping to come to her. Her phone slips through numb fingers, and as she waits she doesn’t move a muscle, couldn’t even if she tried, because there’s this crushing heaviness that’s settled on her skin and somehow she knows she doesn’t have the strength to stand. When he finds her like that, curling into herself on the floor, there’s none of the flash of light and rush of wind that’s she’s slowly growing accustomed to at his arrival. Instead, he approaches her quietly, with careful footsteps, and for that she’s grateful.

He must see the box lying on the ground in front of her, because he picks it up gently and places it on the nightstand before kneeling down in front of her, tilting her chin up with careful fingers. “Iris…” he says softly, sadly, until she finds the strength to lift her gaze and look him in the eye. Her lip trembles and she can feel the tears spilling over again, and she knows she must look a mess but she also knows Barry doesn’t care. The sheer, unadulterated concern in his eyes is enough to make her break down again.

He pulls her into a hug and wraps his arms tight around her, and she buries her face in his shoulder and cries. And cries, and cries. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, how long they stay like that, because with every hitch of her breath he just holds her tighter. After a while, after she finds that she has the strength to lift her arms again, she returns the embrace, clinging to him like a lifeline. He holds her until she stops shaking, until she’s cried herself dry, and then he keeps on holding her. It’s exactly what she needs.


	30. The Ultimate Trust Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> re: the ultimate trust fall

It’s sort of like when they were twelve, and they’d been doing trust falls in gym class. Immediately, she’d selected Barry as her partner, couldn’t even imagine picking anyone else. Except there’d been the slight problem that when the teacher had blown his whistle for them to fall back, Barry had still been standing off to the side, in the process of tying his shoe, and with her back turned to him Iris hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t right behind her until it was too late.

“Iris, wait, no, I’m not–!” he’d tried to say, frantically scrambling to his feet, but she’d already been falling backward, her arms pinwheeling wildly, her eyes wide with fear. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable crash and the pain that would follow, but to her surprise it hadn’t come. She’d cracked an eye open to find herself laying on top of something very solid and very warm and breathing heavily, and had rolled over to find Barry beneath her, face drawn with pain but still smiling at her, bright and relieved as ever. As it turned out, he’d dived the last few feet to get to her, caught her while he was still halfway on the ground, and broken his arm in the process.

It’s sort of like that, except not really, not at all, because this isn’t a five foot fall but a _five-story drop_ , and there’s a lot more at risk here than a concussion or some broken bones. And yet it’s still the same concept, isn’t it? And her faith in him hasn’t lessened any, only grown stronger over the years. She’s not falling, really, she’s jumping, and she thinks there’s some strange sort of comfort in that.

She takes a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest, her palms sweaty and her pulse racing with adrenaline, gunshots banging distantly in her ears. They sound so far away now, even though she knows they’re just around the corner. And even though her breath is coming is short little gasps, she registers that she’s not as afraid as she probably should be. She grits her teeth and takes a running start, like she’s moving on autopilot, his voice in her head all the while, reassuring her just as her foot is at the edge of the window, urging her not to hesitate. 

“Do you trust me?” she hears, and it’s so much louder than the _bang! bang! bang!_ she leaves in her wake. “Do you trust me?” and she can hear it even over the hammering of her heart, the blood pounding in her ears. “Do you trust me?” and yes, she does, she does, she does, and that’s all she needs.

She jumps, and she knows he’ll be there to catch her.


	31. Role-Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: role-reversal au

When you’re constantly running at super speed, sometimes the rest of the world feels like it’s going in slow motion. It’s a blessing and a curse, she thinks, because while that means it gives her more time to appreciate the little, beautiful things in life, all that’s good and all that she’s thankful for, like savoring her best friend’s hugs just a little bit longer, watching him smile so wide and bright and sweet and slow it makes her feel warm all over, it also means that all the bad things feel so, so much longer too.

Bad things like the watching the tears clinging to his eyelashes as though time itself had been on hold when she’d told him she loved him and he’d just sat there, frozen, until finally there was that tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, that silent I’m sorry, and her heart had felt like it was being smashed to pieces in a second that felt more like a lifetime. Like not being fast enough to save Ronnie, or Eddie, and watching in slow-motion something she couldn’t stop. Like watching in every stinging, painful detail how Caitlin’s face had crumpled in anguish, the horror and realization dawning in her expression when she’d returned from the singularity alone.

The seconds after she finds out that Zoom took him, Zoom took _Barry_ , seem to drag on for hours like some horrifying nightmare she can’t wake up from. The minutes it takes for Cisco and Caitlin to locate him, while she stands frozen and useless and drowning in panic with her back against the wall and her head swimming with the word _no_ –no this couldn’t be happening and no he had to be okay and no he couldn’t be dead, not yet, not ever, even though to her it might as well have been a million seconds instead of five since she’d found out he’d been taken–feel like centuries.

Cisco shouts out the location, and it’s slow, too slow, the amount of time it takes her to peel herself off the wall, flash into her suit, and ask him how to get there, although in reality she knows it’s barely even a second. And then she’s running, and the lightning nipping at her heels is wholly at her command, buzzing underneath her skin, energy sparking inside every nerve, and she’s moving so fast her feet barely even touch the ground and she’s not a girl who can’t win anymore but a whisper moving through the streets. It doesn’t matter that the rest of the world is going too slow because she’s not, not like this, not when all that matters is finding him and going faster, and faster, and faster, and she does. She runs. And she’s going to save her best friend.


	32. Lipstick Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: basorexia (an overwhelming desire to kiss)

Iris wears lipstick for the first time the first day of freshman year of highschool in, as she tells him, the spirit of “growing up,” bold and bright and deliciously cherry-red, and Barry honestly counts it as an accomplishment that he doesn’t spontaneously combust when he sees her. It’s a close call, though, because he walks in on her putting it on in the bathroom that morning, smacking her lips together to spread it around evenly and eyeing herself critically in the mirror.

She catches sight of Barry walking in behind her and stares at his reflection, breaking out into a toothy grin. She whirls around to face him, that lipstick-stained smile still fixed on her face, the red so bright it pops against her dark skin and makes her teeth stand out, pearly white and without even a trace of the braces she finally got removed just a couple weeks ago.

“Don’t tell my dad, but there’s no way I’m wearing my retainer on the first day,” she says, and he nods numbly, mostly because he’s finding it really hard to think, to focus, when he can’t tear his gaze away from her lips–full and bright and red. “Anyway, what do you think? Too much?”

It’s not like he’s never noticed that Iris has lips before. Not like he’s never thought of them, in vivid detail, pressed against his own. Actually, it’s rare for him _not_ to be thinking about kissing her. But now it’s like he can’t look away, and he’s even more aware of the fact that she has them and he really, really wants to kiss her and that color is making her smile pop even more than usual which he honestly wouldn’t have thought was possible because her smile is already the brightest thing there is in any given room she walks into but now she’s got that extra splash of color and it’s so nice. It’s so,  _so_ nice.

He walks up to the sink so that they’re standing side-by-side and takes great effort not to let his arm brush against hers even though on a normal day, they’d be nudging and pushing each other out of the way to try and gain a monopoly over the area. With monumental effort he tears his gaze away from her lips–her red, red, red, beautiful, kissable lips–to pick up his toothbrush, channeling all his concentration into squeezing the toothpaste onto it. “No, it’s–you look amazing,” he says, swallowing hard, and then promptly shoves the toothbrush in his mouth before he can say anything else that he’s really going to regret.

“Thanks, Barry,” she beams at him, knocking her shoulder against his, and then, and _then_ –she kisses his cheek. _Kisses him!_ On the cheek, of course, like the strictly platonic best friend he is, the best friend she’ll never see as anything more, but still. He almost chokes on his toothpaste when he looks up to their reflections in the mirror and he notices that his has a big, cherry-red mark on its face, right where her lips touched, left behind from her kiss.

“Oh, crap, I’m sorry,” she laughs, picking up a washcloth from the counter and quickly running it under the water before bringing it up to his cheek, wiping away the evidence. “I totally forgot.”

He mumbles something unintelligible around his toothbrush, which has been frozen and pressed against the other side of his mouth for who knows how long now, and doesn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror. He watches as the mark slowly disappears, until she’s scrubbed it off completely, and all he can think about is how he wishes that she hadn’t, sort of wants it to have stayed there forever. And then she puts the washcloth down and pats his cheek, and she’s smiling at him again, and he lets himself glance sideways at her mouth. Which is a mistake, because her lipstick’s just a little smudged, and then she’s smacking her lips together again to fix it and rub it back in, pouting her lips out and all, and he’s so, utterly, absolutely hopeless. 

“I think I’m going to try out different colors, too,” she says, swiping at the corners of her mouth to get rid of any excess. “For different days, and all. Not that I’ll wear all this everyday, you know, it’s too much effort. But you’ll have to help me decide which one looks best.”

This time, he does choke on his toothpaste, because fuck. He’s so fucked. 

He’s _so_ fucked.   


	33. Better Than Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Iris + smiles

She’s got a million different smiles, one for every emotion, every feeling, every moment. And each one is unique, and each one is so impossibly beautiful it makes your heart ache, your cheeks hurt, your eyes burn. No–it’s not science, because it’s so, so much more.

There’s one for when she’s happy, and it’s like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds after it’s been raining all morning, and suddenly your day is filled with so much light you don’t know what to do with yourself and there’s a rainbow forming somewhere on the horizon, stretching over the city like the smile that’s stretching across her face, except not nearly as beautiful, and nowhere near as breathtaking, not even close. 

There’s one for when she’s excited, and it’s like being six again and running down the stairs on Christmas morning to find presents stacked under the tree, all carefully wrapped in your favorite color, as snow coats the streets outside and a fire crackles and burns away in the fireplace, and you feel warm and light and giddy from the top of your head to the tips of your toes because there’s just this way her entire face seems to light up with it, and your heart is so whole it feels fit to burst.

There’s one for when she’s breathless, and it’s like standing on top of a mountain with the wind blowing through your hair and it almost feels like you’re flying, and it’s like you’re on top of the world as you’re watching the sun rise just over the hilltops and it’s so goddamn refreshing you could get lost for miles and miles in the details of it, all the dips and drops and canyons below, and somehow it’s peaceful like the birds flying overhead and exhilarating like the 4,000 foot drop down over the edge all at once.

There’s one for when she’s sad, and it’s soft and shaky and it feels like your falling, falling, falling, because you know she’s trying so hard to be strong but there are tears she’s fighting to hold back, too, and her eyes are wet and shiny, and all you want is to hold her close and take her pain away because seeing her sad is like something sharp and searing twisting in your gut and there’s no light in her expression and she’s smiling but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and it’s like someone’s stolen the sun and hidden away the stars because the sky is dark, dark, dark and there’s no moonlight either, and you’d do anything to see her happy again.

There’s one for when she’s holding back laughter, and it’s so goddamn infectious you can’t hold yours back no matter how hard you try, and it doesn’t matter what she finds so funny, it doesn’t even matter if she’s laughing at _you_ because her eyes are sparkling and even the hand over her mouth can’t hide her joy because she’s grinning through her fingertips and there’s a ringing in your ears that sounds like music and if it looks like she’s glowing, well, it’s probably because she is.

There’s one for when she’s about to kiss you, and it’s small and sweet and so, so close, and her eyes slip shut as she tilts her head up to meet yours but you can’t find it in you to close your own because you don’t want to look away from the curl of her lips, and everything about her is a goddamn miracle, and you’ve spent so long watching her smile this smile but for someone else and every time she did it felt like someone clenching your heart tight in their fist but now it’s for _you_ and if that isn’t amazing you don’t know what is, and then you’re not just seeing her smile but feeling it too because her mouth is on yours and she’s still smiling, smiling, smiling, and it’s like the feeling you get when you’re running, with the electricity crackling through your veins and your skin sparking with energy and you feel lightheaded in the best possible way, and you love her more than anything.

It’s not science, it’s a fucking phenomenon, and even though you deal with impossibles nearly every day it’s still, always, in every different style and with every different emotion and on every separate occasion, the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen.


	34. Been Here Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said after you kissed me

“What do you mean, even better than the first time?”

“What?” Barry blinked, tearing his eyes away from her lips, the smudge of her lipstick at the corner of her mouth. He wondered briefly if some of it had gotten on his face, and quickly came to the conclusion that it probably had and fuck if that didn’t make his heart beat faster because she’d been kissing him, _Iris had been kissing him_ , and not soft and shy either, not hesitant or unsure, and just thinking about the feeling of her lips moving against his made him dizzy with delight and disbelief all over again and–oh. Right. She’d been asking him a question. What was it again? It was sort of hard to think with the taste of her in his mouth, her body pressed up against his, and–

“ _Barry_ ,” she prompted, stepping back a bit, and the pleasant fog cleared from his mind some. He instantly missed the warmth, the feeling of her wandering hands, and resisted the urge to reel her right back in. Because his eyes were still fixed on her lips, and they were moving again, which meant she was saying something, and he needed to _focus_. Needed to stop thinking about how just moments ago, those lips had been moving against _his_ , about how much he wanted them to do that again. “I asked you what you meant. What you said just now. Even better than the first time?”

“Oh,” he shook his head, finally catching on, the world returning to its normal speed, away from that beautifully suspended slow-motion that seemed to take hold whenever she smiled at him, or looked at him a certain way, or kissed him, apparently. _Kissed him_. That was never going to get old, no matter how many second-or-third-or-fourth-or-fifth-or-hundredth-or-thousandth kisses they had. “You know, because there’s no tsunami threatening to destroy the city, and Joe is safe, and we’re not about to die, or anything.”

She narrowed her eyes, leveling him with a slightly concerned look that suggested she thought he might be losing his mind. A notion probably not at all helped by the fact that he was still wearing the biggest, dopiest smile in the world on his face, but he couldn’t help it. She tended to have that effect on him. 

“Barry,” she said slowly, “we’ve never kissed before. This was our first. And it was great, really great but–first time. I think I’d remember if–”

“Oh,” Barry cut her off, his eyes going wide as the realization hit him, as his senses returned and his thoughts became less of a jumbled mess of _Iris_ and _Iris kissed me_ and _I really fucking love Iris._ “ _Oooh_. No, you wouldn’t, because it technically got erased. As in, it happened, but then I went back in time, and next thing I knew–well. You know how that goes. Time-travel and all. I forgot I never told you that.”

“When was this?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and really, it was a measure of all the craziness and impossibility of their lives in the past year-and-a-half or so, of everything they’d been through, that the first thing she asked was _when_ and not _how_.

“A while ago. Back before–” he re-evaluated that sentence in his head, knowing this was heading towards uncomfortable territory. “–before a lot. Um, let’s see, remember when–ah!” He snapped his fingers, latching on to something to jog her memory that didn’t include any particularly painful reminders from the past. “Remember the whole lightning psychosis thing?” 

 _Except, wait_ –that wasn’t exactly safe territory either, he realized a moment too late, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he tensed. Just another one of the lies he’d been complicit in feeding her, back before she’d been in on his secret, back when he’d made such a mess of everything. He bit his lip and watched her nervously, but to his surprise, as the confusion in her expression cleared, instead of the anger he expected she broke out into a grin that was downright giddy. And then, wonder of wonders, she _laughed_.

“Oh my God,” she brought up a hand to cover her mouth, her eyes sparkling with sudden delight. “I always wondered why you were so weird that day. That was what that was all about, wasn’t it–the whole ‘ _let’s stop thinking and-_ -’”

“Iris, _nooo_ ,” he pleaded, suddenly mortified with the realization of where her train of thought was headed. He’d almost forgotten about that humiliating lapse in judgement–he’d tried _so hard_ to forget about it, _fuck_ – “You _promised_ mewe would never speak of that again. Come on. Let’s–let’s not.”

“Alright,” she grinned at him teasingly, clearly still holding back laughter. “But you didn’t let me finish. The whole ‘just start doing’ part, you know,” she stepped closer, getting right up in his personal space and closing the small distance between them again, standing up on her tip-toes and winding her arms around his waist. And there it was again–his brain doing that odd, short-circuiting thing it did with her, embarrassment forgotten as his thoughts got stuck, once again, on _Iris, Iris, Iris_. “This time, I’m totally game.”


	35. Don't Think Like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Iris after seeing Zoom drag in Barry's limp body

She can’t breathe. She can’t move. She can’t stop picturing his body, his face, all that blood. Can’t stop hearing Zoom’s unnatural voice echoing in her ears, the promise of the Flash being–that he was– _He’s not dead_ , her mind supplies, blocking out the chaos around her. _He’s not dead, he can’t be._ There’s a metallic taste on her tongue, and she dimly registers that she’s bitten her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. _He’s not, he’s not, he’s not._

He could’ve just been knocked out, she thinks desperately, and her breath comes back but it’s in those same short little gasps that always spell out disaster, and her chest hurts and her heart hurts and everything _hurts_ with the image of his face, bloody and beat up and so mangled under that mask, seared at the back of her mind. She closes her eyes but she can’t stop seeing it, and it’s so much more haunting and a million times more terrifying than Zoom himself ever could be. 

 _Knocked out. Sleeping. He’s okay, he’s okay,_ she tries to convince herself. But his chest had been eerily still, and there was something off about the way he’d just _hung_ there, limp and lifeless and completely exposed in the clutches of that _thing_.

“West, where are you going?” someone asks her, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s walking, legs moving on autopilot and carrying her towards the door. The person–Sam, one of Linda’s work friends, she thinks–sounds scared, and understandably panicked, but there’s a poorly concealed undercurrent of excitement there, too. Her coworkers are buzzing around her, replaying the videos and sharing the pictures on their phones and already planning out the stories this is going to make, the headlines and the articles and the press because they’re the CCPN and this is goddamn _news_ , and big news, too. 

“Well?“ he asks again when she doesn’t respond, but her throat is still too dry, her breaths coming too short, to find her voice. She wonders how he can’t notice how close she is to losing it, and if maybe it’s part of the reasons she’s been able to convince everyone she’s been okay for so long now when she hasn’t been in a while. This is too much, though. Too much. _Barry._ “You’re the Flash’s girl, aren’t you? Come on, we need to get on this, stat. Start thinking up headlines–story like this’ll make front page, for sure.”

He winks at her, and it’s only because her arms feel so heavy and her hands are too numb to curl her fingers into fists that she doesn’t hit him right there. She knows that he and all the rest of them are just doing their jobs, but she wants to scream at them, smash every single one of their stupid cell-phones and delete every fucking picture because The Flash is more than just a front page story, more than words on a page. He’s a person and he’s _her_ fucking person and _oh God_ – _Barry_.

She shakes her head numbly and pushes past Sam, ignoring the calls from her co-workers at her back, ignoring everyone asking where she’s going, ignoring everything but the pounding of her heart, the steadily growing fear and panic curling in her stomach that’s making her sick with worry and dread. It’s enough to make her pause on the side of the street as soon as she gets outside to lose her dinner, all the leftover pasta that Linda had cooked, and that’s when the tears come, heavy and hot and all at once. 

Once they start they just won’t stop, dripping down her chin and mingling with blood from her lip and bile she can’t keep down, and she rubs angrily at her eyes because crying isn’t going to help anything. It isn’t going to save him. But she’s panicking and she knows it and she heaves until there’s nothing left in her, until she’s as empty and hollow as she feels at the very real possibility that Barry is–no. _Don’t think like that._

She spits, trying in vain to get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, gritting her teeth and trying to steady her shaking hands. As soon as she can breathe right again, she straightens herself up and heads in the direction of STAR Labs, taking a short cut that’s steadily becoming more and more familiar, because she knows that’s where he’ll be if he’s recovering. If he’s alive. And he _is_ alive. 

She won’t let herself believe otherwise. 


	36. You Vibrate?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 minute writing challenge; could be interpreted as Iris/Barry/Linda

“Iris…you know I owe you my life. So if it’s you asking me for my help catching this Zoom guy, I’ll do it. It’s just–you said you needed me to help you guys. I need to know…who exactly is _you guys_?”

“Oh, you know,” Iris waved a hand around, trying to come off as casual with it as possible, “just me, uh, Cisco and Caitlin, you know, the people from STAR Labs, and, ah, the Flash.”

“The Flash?” Linda’s eyes widened, “You’re working with him? Iris, I suspected you’d been in contact with him considering your blog and all but–you actually _know_ the Flash?”

“Yeah…about that,” Iris smiled apologetically, guiding Linda over to her couch and motioning for her to sit down. “You do too. Just–hold on a sec.”

“What do you mean, I–oh my God.” 

A flash of yellow light and a gust of air, and Barry Allen was there before her, standing in the middle of the West’s living room, suit on and cowl down, smiling nervously at the two of them.

Iris gave him an encouraging nod and a smile, and he nodded back, turning his attention to Linda with an awkward little wave. “Umm…hi?”

“Oh my God,” Linda repeated, sounding out of breath, clutching Iris’s jacket for support. “ _You’re_ …?”

“Yeah,” he grinned sheepishly, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other, “Sorry. About that. About–you know.”

“Wow,” she breathed, “Wow this–explains a lot, actually. Like where all your mysterious calls were coming from, why you were always cancelling plans, and…” she snapped her fingers, her shock quickly melting away into amusement, “the vibrating! Oh man, I wondered about that. I thought I was just imagining things, but…You actually _were_ vibrating, weren’t you?”

“Um,” color flooded Barry’s cheeks, and he snuck a glance at Iris, wondering if she had any idea what Linda was referring to and supremely hoping that she didn’t. To his relief, he found that she only looked confused, looking between the two of them with a thoughtful little frown. “Yeah. Yeah that was–that’s a thing. That I do. Yeah.”

“On purpose?”

“Um, not always, ah…that time wasn’t intentional. I just got, um. I just got excited.”

“Okay, I’m lost,” Iris cut in, looking mildly annoyed at being the odd one out in the conversation, “What exactly are you guys talking about…?” 

Barry opened his mouth, his face a lovely shade of pink, but Linda beat him too the punch.  

“When we were dating, there was a couple times where we were really getting into it, you know, like the time on this couch actually–remember that?–and it felt like something was buzzing against me. It felt amazing, like, really amazing–I _knew_ I wasn’t just imaging it.” She spoke very matter-of-factly, like this wasn’t something that maybe might be absolutely mortifying to broadcast loud and clear, and grinned at Barry, waggling her eyebrows at him like she knew exactly what she was doing. In retrospect, he probably deserved it.

He groaned and hid his face in his hands, only peeking through his fingers to look at Iris when he heard her clear her throat. The expression on her face wasn’t what he expected–not that look she got when she was holding back laughter like he thought she would be. Instead, there was something there that was unreadable, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her eyes wide and carefully avoiding his.

“You can…you mean you can do that…with more than just your face?” she said, swallowing thickly. “It’s your entire body?”

“Oh, yeah,” Linda cut in, winking at him and mouthing the words  _‘you’re welcome,’_  Iris’s gaze still safely trained on the ceiling. He made a face at her as if to say ‘ _for what’_? She just shook her head, her grin growing wider. “Yeah, all of it, it feels great.”

“ _Really_ , Linda?” he said, taking a hand away from his face to rub behind his neck, his face still hot with embarrassment, but this time Iris cut him off before he could go any further.

“Oh. That’s–that’s great. Sounds very–yeah. Great. Good talk, uh,” Iris licked her lips, her gaze flicking down and then up again, resting for a millisecond on the area just below his waistline, so quick he would’ve missed it if it hadn’t been for his speed. _Oh_ , he thought, suddenly comprehending the strained look in her expression. He was just starting to think he might have to thank Linda after all, when– “Wait, hold on, on _this_ couch? In my dad’s _living room_?”

Linda snickered, hiding a grin behind her fingers, clearly pleased with herself. _Okay,_ he thought, sending a glare her way,  _so maybe not._


	37. Late Night Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: late night studying in a library

“Iris? Iris? Uh, Earth to Iris,” Barry says, and he only manages to get her attention when he leans over and pokes her in the middle of her forehead, making her go cross-eyed. “Are you even listening to me? I thought you wanted my help studying for this thing.”

“Sorry, um,” she blinks, tearing her gaze away from his face–a shame, because it’s such a nice face, especially when he’s being all nerdy and excited about stuff like this–to look down at the textbook lying open in front of her, and then at the notebook in front of him that he’s just scribbled something down on, explaining some complicated chemical equation. For her, apparently, because–right. Help. She did ask for that. _Um._  “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“For real?” he sighs, pushing his glasses up a bit to rub the bridge of his nose. “Come on, Iris, it’s almost midnight already. Where did I lose you?”

“I’m…gonna be completely honest here, I haven’t really been following anything you’ve been saying past the–um, what was that called, again? That thing you were explaining–oh! The whole thing about catalysts, and um…aaaand…decomposition!”

“I- _riiiis._  That was literally like the first thing I said. You have to pay _attentioooon_ ,” Barry groans, leaning back in his chair and throwing his head back dramatically, revealing a delectable little strip of skin as he stretches, his shirt riding up just so, and– “…ris?…Iris? You stopped listening to me again, didn’t you.”

“What?” Iris shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the image. Because that is _so_ not what she’s here for right now, no matter how many times she’s fantasized about doing things that would probably make Barry go several shades of red if she were to share them with him, right here in their quiet little corner of the library, hidden behind all these book shelves and in _their_ spot. The one no one dares come near this late at night because they’ve more or less claimed it, by this point in the semester, and they go to a relatively small university–people just know not to come near it. Well, that, and the barricade of chairs they always put up, but, like–that’s not the point. 

Barry pouts and finally gives up on the glasses, taking them off and placing them on the table so that he’s free to scrub tiredly at his eyes. There’s a little indent on his nose from where they’ve dug into his skin, probably from pushing them up so many times–which, really, is so, _so_ distracting, watching them slip down his nose as he buries his head in his books or gets particularly animated about explaining something, his slender fingers coming back up to put them back into place, always right as she’s about to give in and just reach out and do it herself. One day, she muses, watching him scrunch up his nose up at the sudden absence, she’s going to be the one to remove those glasses, all slow and teasing. Like payback for the agony he puts her through every time he wears the stupid things when they’re working. Which is, like, all the time. She’s half convinced he does it on purpose. 

And, _oh,_ she’ll make sure she leaves them for last, take apart every other inch of him first, and then, when he’s all exposed and at her mercy, she’ll smirk and slip those cute little glasses right off his face, and he’ll look at her with those wide, pretty doe-eyes, and she’ll kiss the mark on his nose away, rub her fingers over it just to feel the slight indent in the skin there like she always, always wants to. And that’s not even touching on actually kissing him, oh man, which is like–a whole different ball park. Well, okay, it’s the same ball park, but there’s a whole lot more to how she’s imagined going about it.

Which, admittedly, she does often. 

“Look, do you want my help studying or not?” Barry’s voice breaks through her reverie, and she’s profoundly grateful for the fact that he won’t be able to tell that she’s blushing. “You know I always want to help you, Iris–” and there it is again, because somehow her name finds its way to his lips in pretty much every single conversation (she hates it, which is a lie, she loves it a lot, which is also why she hates it) “–but I can’t teach you anything if you’re just not paying attention.”

“I’m really sorry, Barry,” she heaves a long-suffering sigh, hoping to win herself pity-points, and gives her best puppy-dog eyes, the ones she knows he can never resist. “I appreciate your help, I really do, but my brain is fried right now. Maybe we should take a break? You know how easily distracted I start to get when I’ve been studying like this for too long. And we’ve been here forever. Not that I’m not grateful, ‘cause I am, but I think it’s time for some late night. I mean, hey–if we hurry we can still get there before they stop selling those mozzarella sticks you love.”

“You didn’t seem distracted earlier, though.” She watches a little crease form between his eyebrows as he regards her with confusion. “You were staring really intently, actually. At me. I just assumed–I thought that meant you were paying attention. And you looked focused…I think?”

“Oh, that, I, uh,” she trips over her words, trying and failing to come up with an excuse, and finally settles on the truth. Really, she can only let this crush drag on for so long. Something has to give eventually, and hey, there’s no time like the present. “I was focused. On you. But I was also distracted. By…your face.”

“Oh,” he blinks, and she holds her breath, knowing that this could only go one of two ways (well, okay, probably more than two, but there’s only two that really matter), sincerely hoping she hasn’t just been imagining the looks he sneaks at her over the rims of his glasses while they study, or the lingering glances whenever they’re just hanging out, or the whole always-touching thing they have going on when they’re in the same general vicinity–looks and touches that have made her hope, just a little more each time she catches him in the act, that maybe she isn’t alone in this. She watches the smile spread across his face and instantly feels like a weight’s being lifted off her chest, like she can breathe again and feel her heartbeat in her ears–because that’s good, right? Smiles are good. Smiles are great.

Barry’s smiles, well–they’re amazing.

“Really?” he peeks at her through his lashes, a weird mix of shy and confident, like he can’t really believe it but at the same time his chest is swelling with the possibility, squinting at her a little without the help from his glasses.

“Yeah,” she admits, returning his grin as he takes the textbook out of her hands and snaps it shut, tossing it carelessly to the side so that he can scoot closer to her. “Yeah, you’re pretty distracting. Had my mind stuck thinking of all sorts of other things while you were going on about balancing equations and redox reactions.”

“See, you were paying attention!” he laughs, and she’s pretty sure she’s not imagining that it sounds a little breathless. “But more importantly…what other things?”

“I have a bucket list,” she grins wickedly at him, doing a mental little happy dance when his eyes widen at the way she says it, wondering what sort of conclusions his mind must be whipping up. Whatever they are, they’re probably not all wrong. “Let me show you.”


	38. Pretend to be Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: au where iris became a cop and her resident forensic scientist barry have to pretend to be fake dating/married for a case.

“Are you sure this is the only way?” Barry asks, scrunching up his nose like he still doesn’t quite believe it. He doesn’t look upset by the prospect though, just confused, which is a good sign.

“Yes,” Iris hisses, nudging his side as they walk into the building, urging him to keep his voice down. Honestly, the boy is a terrible actor. Why had she selected her forensics specialist to handle this case with her? He’s a good friend and great at what he does and all, but he’s obviously not used to being out in the field.

“Sorry,” he mouths, giving her a sheepish little smile that makes her stomach flutter, nudging her back playfully to show that he gets it. She feels her face heat up at the contact, and returns his smile ten-fold. _Oh yeah_ , she thinks, her gaze lingering on that adorable grin of his, a fuzzy feeling bubbling up in her chest,  _that’s why_. 

“It’s fine,” she says in a stage-whisper, pressing herself up closer to his side. To make it look good, of course. She’s all about professionalism. Totally. “Now hold my hand.”

He happily obliges, intertwining his fingers with hers, his skin warm and comforting against her own. She feels a slight pressure at the back of her hand as he rubs his thumb against it to settle her nerves, and the knot inside her chest loosens a bit. Okay, so maybe she was wrong, he’s definitely convincing enough. They can totally pull this off. 

After all, for her it’s barely even acting.


	39. Familiar Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Earth-2 Iris is naturally desperate to save Earth-1 Barry (who she still thinks is her Barry). She just lost her dad, she can't lose anyone else. Her super highkey emotions about it are understandable, but she's surprised to find that Earth-1 Cisco seems just as desperate and starts to wonder why. 
> 
> (lowkey barriscowest?)

“Wait, wait,” Earth-2 Bartholomew – as Cisco has decided to call him – wheezes, stopping abruptly in his tracks and doubling over, clutching at a stitch in his side. “I need – just a few minutes I – I need a break. I have – uh, asthma. Or at least – I think I do – now.”

“You don’t have asthma, babe, you’re just tired,” Detective West – because it’s easier to think of her that way – teases, but she sounds more amused than annoyed, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. The same can’t be said for Harry, who looks absolutely _done_ , or Killer Frost, who rolls her eyes in disdain. 

Harry starts to protest, a muscle working in his jaw and his fingers curled into fists, and for once Cisco is honestly right there with him. He shoots Bartholomew his best annoyed look as Harry talks, nodding along in agreement. “We don’t have _time_ , do you really not understand? We need to –”

“We’re taking a break,” Detective West snaps, and the glare she gives their group is enough to freeze them all in their tracks, so effective he briefly wonders if Killer Frost is putting her powers to work too. But no – that particular tag-along is still standing off to the side, looking entirely disinterested in the lot of them, absentmindedly twirling a lock of disconcertingly white hair around her finger. Detective West is apparently just that scary on her own. 

Thinking back to the Iris he knows, well – he can’t actually say he’s all that surprised. He’s seen her angry enough to know not to cross her when she is, but – the gun at this Iris’s hip doesn’t exactly help.

“Jesus, alright, we’ll stop,” Cisco grumbles, waiting for not-Barry-but-Bartholomew to catch his breath, watching him with his hands on knees and quite frankly looking like an arthritic old man. He can’t help the scowl that crosses his face – he misses _Barry,_ and fuck if he’s not worried about him, and definitely a little bitter that his decidedly less-cool doppleganger is here in his place, perfectly safe and sound when _his_ Barry isn’t. He rolls his eyes as Detective West rubs her husband’s back consolingly, telling him to take his time. “You’re so much less fun than my Barry, you know.”

Detective West whirls around, a dark expression crossing her face, and for a moment Cisco is sure she’s going to yell at him for insulting her precious _Bartholomew._ Instead, when her gaze lands on Cisco something in her features softens a bit, enough so that she looks more like the Iris he knows back home. She tilts her head at him in consideration, a thoughtful frown tugging at her lips.

“ _Your_ Barry?”

“Yeah,” Cisco grumps, kicking a rock out of his path, wanting nothing more than to resume their trek up the hill that’s really more of a mountain, something in her tone rubbing him the wrong way. “You know, like you have your Barry – this Earth’s Barry, I mean – and I have…my…Barry…”

Cisco feels his throat go dry as he realizes how that must sound, because it really isn’t the same thing, is it? That comparison would imply…well.

Shit.

He dutifully ignores Detective West’s eyes but he can feel her staring at him, watching him with renewed interest  and a look that’s far more knowing than he’s comfortable with.  

“I see,” she says slowly, and it has Cisco backtracking so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t take a page out of his friend’s book and travel right back in time.

“That – shit, that came out wrong, didn’t it?” he tries to explain, twisting the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers. “What I meant was – not _that_ – my Barry’s just – fuck,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands as the word slips out again. 

There’s a hand on his arm, and he nearly jumps, because he’s been staring at the ground so long he hadn’t even realized when Detective West had moved to stand next to him. She gives his arm a light squeeze, and he figures he’s already dug himself a deep enough hole – he might as well jump in. “I just – I guess it doesn’t matter. I just miss him, is all,” he mutters to his shoes, before finally lifting his gaze to meet Detective West’s, immediately wishing he hadn’t once he catches sight of her expression.

“We’ll get your Barry back, Cisco,” she smiles sadly at him, and the sudden warmth and understanding in her eyes makes him feel far too exposed – he almost wishes she’d go back to glaring. _Bartholomew_ nods enthusiastically at her side, but his friendly smile – even despite the fact that Cisco has really been nothing but rude to him, and he’s reminded with another pang of someone else he knows who’s far too trusting – only makes Cisco feel worse, because it’s a smile he’d given anything to see right now but this one isn’t  _right_. That’s Barry’s smile, sure, it’s nearly identical and equally adorable, but it’s just…impersonal. There’s no familiarity in this Barry’s eyes, none of the affection he’s gotten so used to, and, for the first time, seeing it just makes Cisco feel cold.

He nods and swallows thickly, not trusting himself to speak, and looks away from Detective West and her _husband_ again, gesturing towards the long way ahead of them that they still have to travel and ignoring Harry’s exasperated _“Finally_.” 

He tries not to feel too sick when not-Iris takes not-Barry’s hand in her own in what is obviously a very familiar gesture and guides him along, tries not to think about the way they lean into each other for support, tries not to give into the awful feeling clawing at his chest that he doesn’t want to acknowledge but, if he’s being honest with himself, knows can only be jealousy.

He doesn’t succeed.


	40. Earth-2 Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: e2 barry comes back to e2 iris and she's like "so yesterday's barry...wasn't you?"

She waltzes into his lab, as usual, unannounced, legs shaking underneath her as she hurries to his side, needing and aching for his arms around her before she collapses under the weight of everything that’s happened in just the short span of – of less than _24 fucking hours_. Lawton’s in the hospital, recovering from whatever that meta-human had blasted him with, the Flash, who’d been missing in action for so long the city had started giving up hope he’d ever be back, is apparently alive and sporting a very strange wardrobe change, and is now in the custody of Zoom him – it? – self, and her dad…her dad is… _no._ She knows she’s tough, she’s always been tough, but this…this is too much, especially all at once.

Barry senses something – everything – is wrong the moment he sees her, turning towards her and peeling himself away from whatever he’d been observing under his microscope, catching her just in time as she lets herself fall against him. Her arms snake around his waist and his wrap around hers, holding her close and letting her catch her breath. The only reason she doesn’t break down then and there is because she got too much of that out of her system yesterday, and now she’s just…numb. Hurting, yeah, hurting a lot, but – still numb.

“It’s so good to see you,” she mumbles against his shoulder, voice uncharacteristically soft – a tone she’s really only ever allowed him to hear. “I’m – I’m glad you didn’t come with me, I – I couldn’t stand to lose anyone else I love, not after my dad, and now Lawton is – ”

“Iris,” Barry places a kiss on her forehead when she shakes her head, her throat closing up and swallowing up the rest of her words. “I’m sorry, I – wait. Your…what about your dad?”

Iris pulls back just enough to level him with an incredulous look, unable to hide the hurt in her expression. She loves her husband even despite all his flaws, and she’s known since the day she met him that he can be tactless sometimes, but – never _this_ tactless. “He _died_ , Barry, remember?” she says sharply, clenching her jaw in anger, unconsciously taking another small step back.

Barry blinks, a whole range of emotions flickering across his face but the primary one is obviously of concern. He’s apparently at a loss for what to say before he finally manages to stutter out a question, wrap his head around what she’s telling him. Which…doesn’t make sense, and neither does the sudden realization and horror that dawns in his expression, like somehow this is news to him even though he knew this already, was there when it happened. “Joseph’s…what? _How?”_ He tries to close the distance between them again, sensing that he needs to be gentle, and lays a comforting but cautious hand on her arm. “Oh my God, Iris, I’m so –”

“Barry,” Iris cuts him off angrily, pushing him away as he moves embrace her again. She lets her arms fall to her sides and curls her hands into fists, pushing him back down into the chair he’d been sitting in before she’d come in. “You were _there._ ”

A heavy crease appears between his eyebrows and he frowns hard, his eyes searching her face like that’ll make sense of things, and with a pang of worry Iris wonders if maybe he hit his head or something last night, that maybe, even despite staying out of danger, he’s hurt after all. “Iris, what are you…? Oh.” His eyes widen, and he looks up at her with sudden clarity. “Oh – _fuck.”_  

Barry drops his head into his hands and groans like suddenly everything makes sense, and Iris narrows her eyes at him, latching onto her frustration because anger is so much easier than the dread that’s still hollowing out her chest. “ _What?”_ she asks with acid in her tone, in a a way she doesn’t think she’s ever really used with him before, and feels the slightest twinge of guilt at the way it makes him flinch.

“No, Iris, I actually…wasn’t? There, I mean. Listen, honey, I was going to tell you as soon as I saw you but I came straight to work because I had to run this sample for these – these people who claim that they’re – and – look, it’s… a lot.”

Iris arches an eyebrow at him, the despair she’d felt when she’d first come here still draining away and slowly being replaced by more of that anger, her feet planted firmly on the ground. “What are you talking about?”

Barry pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and lets out a long breath. “Okay. Okay, listen…”

And then he explains, about being kidnapped and taken to S.T.A.R. Labs (keeping his tangent gushing over meeting _the_ Harrison Wells brief; she’s proud of him for that), about a guy who looked identical to him taking his clothes and how Wells and some guy named Cisco held him hostage, about how they’d let him in on the secret only so that they could request he run some tests for them in his lab and get them whatever information the CCPD had on Zoom, finally letting him go with stricken looks on their faces, about how they were apparently from another Earth – _“another Earth, Iris, can you believe it?”_ – and their friend – the Barry that wasn’t him but apparently him from another universe – was the Flash on his Earth and here to track down Zoom, but their plan had gone sideways and he’d been captured and he – this Barry – had changed and come straight here and – 

Iris holds up a hand to stop him, her mind reeling, struggling to process it all. One concern in particular whirls over and over again in her head, flashing and blaring and making it hard to think, hard to breathe, the room suddenly spinning much too fast around her. _Another Earth?_

“You mean to tell me…” she says slowly, narrowing her eyes at him as if expecting him to laugh, to assure her that he’s _joking_ , “the Barry from yesterday…wasn’t you?”

“No,” he says matter-of-factly, shaking his head and pressing a finger to his lips, looking adorably resolute with his eyes wide and curious behind the frames of his glasses. 

“Huh,” Iris blinks, thoughts racing, a million questions cropping up on top of a sickening mixture of shock, annoyance, and confusion. “I – I can’t believe I’m believing this, but I know you wouldn’t lie and now that I think about it, that Cisco guy had a doppleganger too and – I guess this actually explains a lot.”

There’s a strange expression on Barry’s face, like he sort of maybe wants to smile, lips twitching upward the slightest bit, but he’s trying hard not to, like he knows he shouldn’t. And then he tilts his head at her, that familiar crease back between his eyebrows.

“You…seriously didn’t know?” Barry – her Barry – frowns, looking somewhere between fascinated at the fact that apparently this is possible at all and frustrated that somehow successfully stole his identity, and his wife, especially when she needed him most. Which is – understandable. She’s pretty damn pissed about it too.

“I mean, you were definitely acting weird all day, and I could tell something was off, but I think I just brushed it off because – ” she trails off, deep in thought, trying to think back to yesterday through the fog of memories she’s been avoiding thinking about, back to the…other Barry…trying to remember why she’d trusted him so easily, hadn’t even considered, despite how strange he’d been acting, that when he said he wasn’t feeling himself he really _wasn’t_ _himself_ at all – or at least, not hers.

“Because?” Barry prompts, taking his hands in hers and rubbing a thumb against the back of her hand, silently urging her to continue. Iris sighs, staring back into her husband’s wide-eyes as he focuses all his attention on her, and realizes she has her answer.

“The way he looked at me, it was just…the same way you do, I guess. Like the way you’re looking at me now. Just – all love, you know? And want. Like, I didn’t question it because it was just – familiar. You don’t look at a stranger like that.” 

“Oh.”

“I just –” Iris shakes her head, taking Barry’s hands in her own again, like the contact will help her make sense of things. “I kissed him, obviously, because I thought he was you, but – why didn’t he stop me? Somehow I doubt it had anything to do with what he came here to do, because it doesn’t sound particularly relevant to finding Zoom.” 

Barry bites his lip, looking adorably deep in thought, before his eyes light up in understanding. “Before they let me go, Cisco – he’s the…other Barry’s friend, one of the people who were holding me hostage – well, he and Dr. Wells were fighting, talking about how the…other Barry, I guess, got distracted by things that didn’t matter and went and got himself captured because of it, and Cisco mentioned something about – about you – I think, on his Earth, he’s in love with you too.”

Iris stares at him, silently filling in the blanks. “But…we’re not together, are we? On that Earth? That’s why he was so taken off guard when I kissed him at work. I just thought – I don’t know. I just thought you were being paranoid about being caught again, after last time.”

Barry’s lips twitch upward at the memory of ‘last time,’ and Iris feels herself tamping down a grin too, because now really isn’t the time, and if they let themselves remember that particular instance in too much detail, well – Iris shakes her head to clear her mind, and cups Barry’s cheek in her hand.

“I can’t believe there’s a world out there where we aren’t together.”

“Well,” Barry shrugs, staring at a point just over her shoulder, “My double is clearly still in love with you. Or…his version of you. Maybe it just hasn’t happened yet? They could just be moving slower. We don’t know what the other you is like, or how she feels.”

“True,” Iris concedes, fingers tightening around Barry’s hand and abruptly pulling him to his feet. “Come on.”

“Where – where are we going?” Barry asks, stumbling a bit as he regains his footing, blinking owlishly at her. 

“We’re going to help those people get their Barry back,” Iris says, steeling her resolve. She _wants_ to be mad, and she is definitely annoyed, but – she also doesn’t want there to be a version of her in another universe that loses their Barry, stuck waiting for him to come or living with the knowledge that he won’t, because she couldn’t even imagine losing hers. And she supposes if nothing else, she can still look out for herself like she’s always done – even herself from another Earth.

She tugs at Barry’s hand and guides him out of his lab with purpose in her stride, and as usual, he lets her pull him along, obediently falling into step behind her.


	41. Good News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Breathe, Barry, breathe!" Iris said as she tried to calm her boyfriend's erratic breathing pattern.

“I can’t– Iris, holy shit, I  _can’t_ –” Barry gasps, hands clutching at his head, eyes wide and frantic. “You– I–  _you_ –”

“Barr,” Iris says gently, half amused, half exasperated. “Come on, this is really not much of a surprise. Considering how…um. You know, how much we’ve been trying.”

Barry doesn’t even crack a smile, just stares at her with wide eyes, struggling to get a grip over himself. “But Iris, this is– I’m just _so_ –”

Whatever he’d been trying to say is replaced with a gasping noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and Iris squints, trying to get a better look at him as he buries his face in his hands. 

“Are you…crying?” Iris asks, although even as she says it she knows what a stupid question it is. It’s  _Barry._

“No,” Barry mumbles defiantly, voice suspiciously nasally and muffled behind his hands. Iris rolls her eye affectionately and tugs his hands away, taking them in her own and squeezing tight, just as much to calm him down as to make sure as he doesn’t try to hide from her again. He gives up trying to avoid her gaze, his lower lip trembling as he stares at Iris in awe, the tears shining in his eyes.

“Sure you aren’t,” Iris teases, cupping her husband’s cheeks in her hands, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb. Barry’s breathing is still worryingly fast, his expression a mixture of absolute panic and pure joy, and Iris feels herself soften as she takes it all in. “Hey, I cried too when I found out. Knowing you, I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

“It’s just–Iris. Holy shit.  _We’re gonna be parent_ s.”

“Yeah,” she says, breaking out into a smile as he pulls her into a hug, swaying slightly back and forth. “We are.”

She holds him close, smiling growing wider when she feels his hands slip under her shirt, grazing tentatively against her stomach, his touch tender and nearly reverent. As soon as she feels his breathing even out, feels him relax into her touch, she decides it’s time to break the rest of the news. Sooner rather than later, right? He’s a superhero. He can handle it.

“Twins,” she half-whispers, holding him tighter so that he can’t pull away. 

“…what?”

“We’re not just having _a_ kid,” Iris says, nuzzling against his chest, “We’re having _kids_.”

It’s only Iris’s surprisingly strong arms still wrapped around his waist that keep Barry from falling to the floor as he promptly passes out.


	42. Interdimensional Trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "What do you /mean/ you ran us to another Earth?!"

“Look, just–don’t freak out, okay! I can get us back, promise. There’s just someone I really want you to meet here.”

“And who–” Iris started, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, when suddenly she felt the wind knocked out of her, an unexpected pressure as something slammed into her and hauled her off of the ground before she had time to blink. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation and vaguely wondered where Barry was taking her now, because she’d been sped around to enough unfamiliar places– _Earths_ – for one day, _thankyouverymuch_. For a lifetime, really. 

But when the world finally stopped spinning, returning to its normal speed, her feet touching blessedly solid ground in yet another regretfully unfamiliar place, it wasn’t Barry who’s arm she found wrapped securely around her waist.

She blinked, rubbed at her eyes, and then blinked again, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Some sort of…base? Definitely inside. And a pretty blonde girl beaming at her and then at Barry who –she was also carrying? She was holding both of them. Right. How was she that strong? 

The girl – dressed in some type of super suit, of course, because what friend of Barry’s wouldn’t be– let Iris go, sensing her discomfort. Barry, on the other, she didn’t release quite as easily, instead squeezing him tight in a hug Iris was sure had to be at least a little painful.

“Barry Allen! How the hell are you!” the girl laughed, loosening up her grip a bit at Barry’s pained ‘ _oof_ ’.

“Great! I’ve been great. Iris,” Barry said, gesturing to her with a wave of his hand as the mysterious strong-girl finally put him down, smiling even through the strain in his voice as he massaged the sore spot on his chest, “I’d like you to meet my friend Kara Danvers. Or Kara Zor-El. That’s her alien name, because get this– she’s an _alien_.”

Iris blinked, staring at the pair of them as Barry slung an arm around Kara’s shoulders, grinning brightly. Of course. It clicked almost immediately –no wonder Barry would want her to meet this girl, Kara, of course he would, because–

“Kara, this is my _girlfriend_ Iris,” Barry said, the pride and awe in his voice still clear as day even after months of dating, making Iris smile despite herself. “See, Iris here– well, I’ve been _trying_ to convince her that aliens exist since we were, like, ten. So I figured, what better way to prove I’m right than introduce her to the real deal, you know? The coolest alien I know.”

“Barry, I’m the _only_ alien you know,” Kara laughed, shooting a fondly exasperated grin in Iris’s direction. “Come on, Iris,” she said, skipping formalities and simply grabbing her hand, practically bouncing with excitement. “Follow me. I’ll show you the spaceship.”

“Um,” Iris said as Kara pulled her down a long, glass-covered hallway, giving Barry a wide-eyed look as he fell into step alongside of them. Barry just smiled encouragingly and slipped his hand into Iris’s free one, sandwiching her in between them, and squeezing reassuringly.

 _Aliens_ , she thought dazedly, watching Kara out of the corner of her eye, already deciding that they would get along just fine. _Who would’ve thought._


	43. Kick His Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: kick his ass for me.” or “killed him? wait, what, literally?” 
> 
> (a fix-it fic for the season finale when they locked Barry up because that was very...hmm...not good)

In the end, it’s a lot less dramatic then he expects it to be, and probably worryingly easier. Easier not because it wasn’t hard, not because he hasn’t suffered – oh, he’s fucking suffered alright, he’s never wanted to just shut down and stop thinking more than in the past twenty-four hours since Zoom killed his dad except for maybe fifteen years ago when he watched Eobard Thawne stab his mother through the heart in the same spot. No, not easier because he hasn’t lost anything. And not easier because it’s not difficult – he’s never fought so hard in his life. 

It’s easier because when he finally gets a leg up on Zoom, pinning him to the ground and holding him there with what he’s sure must be a broken arm, pain radiating through every bone, every inch of his body, his ribs twinging with every move, the blood in his mouth tainting his teeth red, he doesn’t have to think twice before lifting his free hand and vibrating it right through Zoom’s chest, killing him just as quickly as Zoom killed his dad, wishing it were longer. That he could draw it out. Make him suffer.

He watches the shock flood Zoom’s eyes, like he didn’t ever actually expect Barry to do be able to do it, to kill him. And not because he isn’t capable, but because good little heroes aren’t supposed to _kill_ their enemies. Fuck it. He’s so far past caring about what he’s supposed to do, what he’s expected to do, and it’s not like this is the first time he’ll have blood on his hands. 

Zoom opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, his mouth twisting up in what looks like the beginning of a knowing smirk, but the light leaves his eyes before he can get a word out, his expression going slack. Barry just continues to vibrate his hand through Zoom’s flesh even though he knows he’s already dead, doesn’t stop until he can feel he’s fingers drilling painfully into the concrete below them, going all the way through, a snarl curling his lips. 

When he finally pulls his hand away, covered from the tips of his fingers to almost his elbow in a red that’s darker than his suit, he doesn’t feel any better. The crushing weight on his chest doesn’t really lessen any. But that’s okay – he didn’t really expect it to. He tilts his head up to the sky and lets out a shaky breath, reveling in the quiet, and he doesn’t feel a single shred of regret, either.

* * *

“Killed him? Wait, what, literally?” Cisco says, his eyes wide as Barry breaks the news – although the body he made sure to drag through the streets before speeding it here, laying on the floor of the cortex before them, sort of speaks for itself.

“Yes,” Barry says, voice cold, and he can see the warring emotions playing out on almost all their faces, the silent judgement hanging in the air, and still, he doesn’t regret it one fucking bit. He lets his gaze wander around the room, a challenge in his eyes, debating whether or not to kick the corpse in front of him for good measure. The only ones who doesn’t seem to disapprove of his actions are Caitlin, her face hard as she gives him a satisfied nod, something like relief flickering in her expression, and Iris, who doesn’t even spare the body on the floor a second glance as she makes her way towards Barry, dark eyes never leaving his face.

“Good,” Iris says, sounding as sure and firm as the arms she wraps around him, pulling him into a crushing hug like she never wants to let go. He doesn’t return it – with the adrenaline steadily wearing off he feels his injuries catching up with him, his body aching all over and making the idea of moving seem near impossible. But he does let his eyes fall shut and buries his face into her hair, distantly aware of the fact that he’s not the only one shaking. For what feels like the first time in weeks, even though he’s pretty sure at least one of his ribs is broken or badly bruised, he feels like he can breathe again.


	44. Snowed-In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: westallen snowed in au with Iris in Barrys sweaters and cuddles (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The first thing Iris notices when her alarm goes blaring at 7:00 a.m. on the dot, pulling her out of a comfortable sleep, is that it’s fucking _freezing –_ even under the covers and with the warm body she’s cuddled up against. Of course, it doesn’t help that she’s not wearing anything, so when she finally musters up the strength to slide out of Barry’s comfortable embrace and throw the covers off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her skin immediately breaks out into goosebumps. 

She shivers and quickly pulls on her robe, laying discarded on the floor from last night, and watches as Barry stirs in the bed, his arm going out to the now empty space beside him. The unhappy, half-asleep noise he makes when his hand skims across the mattress and doesn’t make contact with anything brings a smile to Iris’s lips. Whereas she has work bright and early as usual today, it’s a rare day off for Barry, but he sighs and opens his eyes anyway, blinking blearily up at the ceiling before turning his attention to Iris.

“Morning,” he mumbles, clearly not fully conscious yet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Mhmm,” Iris responds, making her way to the closet before something bright catches her eye through the window, casting a different glow across the room than the usual early morning sunlight. No wonder it’s so goddamn cold, she realizes as she makes her way over to the window – there’s not an inch of ground visible outside. Everything is covered in snow, and it’s _still_ snowing, her field of vision as she peers out the window completely obscured by white. Even from where she’s looking, she can tell there’s at least over a couple feet of it. 

“’S wrong?” Barry asks around a yawn, sitting up and letting the blankets pool around his lap and squinting over at Iris as she scrunches her nose at the sight out the window.

“We must have been hit with a goddamn blizzard or something last night,” she scowls, pulling her robe tighter around her, “there’s snow _everywhere_.”

“Hmm,” Barry says, blinking slowly at her, clearly still processing, and her scowl melts away at the sight of his messy, bed-ridden hair, and the way he brings the blanket up to his chin as the cold air finally hits him. “Huh. I didn’t even notice it was snowing last night.”

“Well, we were sort of otherwise occupied.”

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement, smiling his happy, sleepy smile at her – one of her top three favorites out of what she considers his signature ‘Barry Smiles’ _–_ not that there’s really any she doesn’t like. “So what’s wrong with the snow?”

“Well, how the hell am I gonna get to work? The roads are covered.” She shivers, rubbing her arms to try to warm up the exposed skin. “Plus, it’s fucking freezing in here.”

“Come back to bed,” he grins at her, patting the space beside him. “I’ll keep you warm.”

And, as tempting as that sounds, “Work, Barry.”

He pouts, watching as she rifles determinedly through her closet. “You said it yourself, how are you even going to get there with the roads all blocked off? And probably our driveway too. Just call in and explain. I wouldn’t be surprised if CCPN stay closed today because of the weather, anyway.”

“I mean, maybe, but I just…oh! You could speed shovel everything, couldn’t you? That might work.”

“Well, I _could_.” He tilts his head at her and makes a face, pretending to entertain the idea for about a whole half-a-second.

“But you’re not going to.”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ and finally getting out of bed to pull on a pair of sweatpants, the cold obviously getting to him too. He pauses, eyes darting to Iris’s bare legs, before fishing through his drawer and throwing her a pair too. She pulls them on gratefully, as usual having to roll the bottoms up so much it makes Barry snicker. Still, she’s learned from experience that it’s better to take the teasing then try to tough it out only to trip and fall over the too-long pant legs and right onto her face. 

“Barry…” she sighs, her resolve already slipping away. Honestly, she really could use a day off, and the idea of stepping foot outside is less than appealing at the moment. And Barry is always so _warm_.

“Come _on_ , Iris,” he wheedles, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes. “Just accept it. We’re snowed in, let’s make the most of it.”

By ‘the most of it’ she knows he means getting the fireplace going, breaking out their special hot chocolate mugs and curling up on the couch to watch movies that require little to know brain power all day, which…actually sounds really nice right about now.

“Fine,” she huffs, pretending to sound put-out and turning around so he can’t see her smile, knowing that she’s probably not fooling him anyway. “But you’re making me breakfast.”

“Oh, well of course. Coming right up,” he says with a grin, throwing on a shirt and tucking a couple of pillows and a spare blanket under his arm. He throws her a mock salute with his free hand. “Meet you downstairs.”

She feels a fleeting and familiar pressure against her lips before he’s gone in a flash of light and a gust of air that blows the robe off her shoulders, and almost immediately she can hear the clatter of pots and pans from downstairs as he zips around the kitchen. She shakes her head fondly, turning away from her closet and to the dresser with most of Barry’s clothes instead, pulling out her favorite old STAR Labs sweatshirt – worn over time but still somehow just as soft and warm as ever. Plus, it smells like Barry, and she’s long since accepted the fact that she’s hopelessly sappy when it comes to their relationship. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant scent and bunching up the sleeves in her hands. 

Well.  At least Barry’s no better. 

Later, when she’s tucked underneath his arm, cuddling for warmth under the blanket with his steady, sprinting heartbeat under her ear as she lays half on top of him on the couch, focusing more on the warmth radiating from his skin than the cheesy hallmark Christmas movie they have on and letting the feeling of his hand running up and down her back lull her back to sleep, she concedes that the snow might not be so bad, after all.


	45. Really Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: things you said when you thought i was asleep

_The past_

Sometimes, when Joe is out on duty late into the night and into the early hours of the morning and neither of them can fall asleep alone, not without worrying, they’ll curl up on the couch together and watch shitty Lifetime movies until they can’t keep their eyes open any longer. They’ll fall asleep like that, leaning on each other and offering a silent comfort that speaks for itself. 

Tonight is one of those nights.

“Hey, Iris,” Barry’s hums, and she feels him tug at her hair to get her attention. She scrunches up her nose and absently swats his hand away, burrowing further into his lap.

“Iris.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles sleepily, the most acknowledgement he’s going to get out of her at this hour. If he notices she doesn’t feel particularly chatty at the moment, he clearly doesn’t care, and instead plows ahead as if she’d responded like she was wide-awake. Which she’s really not.

“Do you think dogs have souls?” Barry finally says, just as Iris is drifting off again, on the very brink of sleep, all warm and cozy and tired to the bone. His voice pulls her back, and she risks cracking an eye open, not enough that he’ll be able to see that she’s awake but just enough to squint up at him through her eyelashes. He’s quiet for another moment, staring off into space and presumably lost in his thoughts, and Iris rolls her eyes and resolves to just ignore him, but then he just keeps _going_ , rattling off some ridiculous sleep-deprived theory, distracting and absurd, and it’s like –  _oh my God Barry stop talking_.

“Iris?” he whispers, and Iris can practically feel his eyes on her. She takes care to make herself lie very still, not betray herself with so much as a twitch. “Iriiiiiis.” A pause, followed by an disappointed huff. “You fell asleep on me, didn’t you?”

Iris very pointedly doesn’t respond, even though no, she is very, very unfortunately awake. Instead she flips over on her side and pretends to snore a little too loudly which–admittedly, is a bad cover; Barry knows she doesn’t snore. Much.

A pause, and then. “I think they do. I mean, if you approach it from a logical standpoint –”

Iris wacks him over the head with a couch pillow. 

* * *

_The present_

The first thing she notices when her brain comes back online is that she hurts all over, and her head is throbbing so badly she doesn’t dare open her eyes. It takes a moment for her to remember what happened, why she’s hurting so much, and for a terrifying moment she wonders where she is. It all comes back in a rush that leaves her feeling, if possible, even more dizzy; the meta-human that she’d been writing a story on breaking into Picture News, charging towards her desk and demanding she drop her investigation, too-strong fingers closing around her throat when she refused, nails digging into her skin and a fist sinking into her stomach, her chest –

There’s a slight pressure on her hand, and the scrape of a chair against tile, the distant beeping of machines as warm and familiar fingers thread through her own and squeeze down in reassurance – probably as much for him as for her. 

“Iris?” Barry’s voice is so small, so scared, and she doesn’t think she’s heard him sound this helpless since the night his mother was murdered and her dad had brought him home to live with them, or the weeks and months following where she’d wake up to the sounds of him screaming in his sleep. “Don’t scare me like that again. I can’t – I…” he swallows thickly, his voice giving out on him. It’s so quiet, so raw, that she gets the feeling she’s not supposed to hear it – or that he doesn’t know she’s listening. It’s like she’s unintentionally intruding on something very private, even though he’s technically talking to her.

She wants to feel guilty, she really should let him know she’s awake, but her leg is throbbing dully and her whole body aches and her mind is hazy from all the pain killers, and even when it’s broken his voice is so reassuring. Guilty or not, she finds herself focusing in on it, the only clear thing through a thick fog of pain and exhaustion and that weird floaty, drug-induced feeling.

“I care about you too much,” he continues when he’s finally found his voice again, “I think I’d go out of my mind if I lost you. Actually, just – forget I even mentioned it. I don’t even want to think about it. Aaaaand you’re asleep. Right. I don’t know why I’m still talking, you can’t hear me. I’m just gonna –”

Iris decides to put him out of his misery and squeezes his hand back, just the slightest bit of pressure, and he must see the tiny smile curling her lips, because he lets out a huff of exasperation that turns into more of a sigh of relief at the fact that she can very, obviously, hear him.

“Right.”

“Mmm,” she hums in response, keeping her eyes shut tight, because everything is still too bright and too much right now, and it helps to block out the incessant ache in her ribs that the painkillers aren’t quite getting at yet.

It’s quiet for a moment, but even with her eyes closed she can sense Barry’s hesitation, can practically hear his mind at work, debating whether to ask –

“You’re really okay, though?”

She squeezes his hand again, a little tighter this time, “I will be.”

* * *

_The future_

“I’m happy,” he says one night while their lying in bed, Iris wrapped up in his arms, her head resting comfortably on his chest. Iris is barely awake, and Barry’s voice is barely a whisper, his fingers light as a feather as he traces them over her lips, her cheeks, the soft curves under her eyes. It’s pretty apparent that he doesn’t expect her to respond, that he’s talking more to himself than anything, if the conviction, the awe, in his voice is anything to go by, almost like he can’t believe the words are really true. “I’m really, really fucking happy. And I can’t – I can’t believe I ever let myself believe I never would be, not when I’m –not when we’re like this, not when I have this. So. Fuck you, Eobard.”

“Shhhhh. Sleep,” Iris reaches up to curl her fingers around Barry’s, resting her hand lightly atop his, smiling at the feeling of warmth radiating from his skin. She feels him tense for half-a-second as he realizes she’s awake, but she gently pulls his hand away from her cheek to kiss his fingers, and he immediately relaxes into her touch. He holds her just a little bit tighter and she cracks an eye open, close enough even in the dark to catch the soft little smile curling his lips, the warmth and affection and love shining in his eyes as he studies her face. She closes her eyes again with a smile of her own, burying her head against his chest with content little sigh. “I’m happy too.”


	46. Blanket Hog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: stop being such a blanket hog I can't sleep if I'm cold" that ends in cuddles

“It’s not _my_ fault I’m tall and you picked the single smallest blanket to bring here even though I told you we’d need to share.”

“I like this one,” Iris says defensively. “It’s fuzzy.”

“It’s too _small,_ ” Barry points out again, and yeah, okay, so maybe his feet are sticking out the end, and maybe it’s barely big enough to fit the two of them, and maybe she should’ve taken all these things into consideration when grabbing a pillow and blanket to take over to STAR Labs to keep Barry company as he camped out there for the night, just in case the latest metahuman tried to break in again. 

But it’s her _favorite_.

“You know, this has a really simple solution,” Iris says, knowing exactly how to appease him and keep perfectly cozy all at once. She scoots closer, pressing right up against him til her head is resting comfortably against his chest, his heartbeat beneath her ear. She snakes an arm around his waist and sighs contentedly. God, he’s always so _warm_. 

“Alright,” Barry huffs, wrapping her up in his arms, tangling their legs together so that the blanket fits just right over the both of them. “This is an acceptable solution.”

His hand strokes lazily up and down her back, and the blanket feels so soft against her skin, and Iris hides her grin against his chest– smug and sleepy and oh-so-warm.


	47. Comfort Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Iris discovering Barry’s good at making [pastry item of choice]

“I’ve known you my whole life, Barry,” Iris says, narrowing her eyes at him as she puts her purse down on the kitchen table, cautiously making her way over to the oven Barry is standing by, surrounded by a carnage of ingredients spread out over the counter and tapping his foot impatiently as he waits. Iris approaches slowly, like she’s just waiting for something to explode. Honestly, it’s not an unreasonable fear. “Since _when_ do _you_ know how to bake?”

Barry jumps at the sound of her voice, nearly falling over in surprise and almost knocking the half-empty bag of flour to the floor in the process. Iris wonders just how focused he must’ve been not to hear her approaching, especially with her heels against the tiled kitchen floor. “Iris! You’re home early,” he splutters, rubbing his forehead–a nervous habit, Iris knows–and leaving a smear of flour in his wake. “I mean–Joe did say you called him to pick you up early because it was–um–well he doesn’t know but I assumed–”

“It was a disaster, is what it was,” Iris groans, leaning with her hip against the counter. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, mouth watering at the delicious smell wafting through the kitchen. Whatever it is that Barry’s got in the oven, it smells _heavenly_. Which is…surprising, to say the least. “I wish I hadn’t taken Tyler up on his offer to drive; if I had my car there I could’ve escaped sooner. Seriously, I’m never going on a date ever again.”

“Um.” Barry says intelligently, looking red in the face all of a sudden. But Iris doesn’t have much time to ponder it, because he keeps talking before she can ask. “Yeah, I figured it didn’t go well, considering–well, Joe said you sounded pretty upset when you called–I didn’t tell him who you were with, promise!” He adds hastily, noticing the sharp look Iris throws him. For all her dad knows, he’d been picking her up from a “friend’s” house. 

“Good,” she nods, tapping her fingers against the counter, keeping her gaze averted to the ground. “And don’t you dare tell me ‘I told you so’, Barr, because I really don’t want to hear it right now.” 

 “I wasn’t going to,” Barry says with a shrug, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and when he finally meets her eyes she can tell he’s being honest. “I’m not going to gloat because some guy was an asshole to you, Iris. I wouldn’t do that.” 

 “I know,” she says, her warning glare quickly melting away, her expression going soft, and she sighs, trying not to look too pathetic as she tries for a self-deprecating little smile. “You wouldn’t be wrong, though.”

“Hey, you warned me about Becky Cooper too, remember?” Barry reminds her, like she ever needs to be reminded of _that_. Iris makes a face at the name, and Barry grins at her like it’s exactly what he expected from her. “And I didn’t listen, either. We’re even, I guess.” 

The timer on the oven goes off, which is good, because it holds Iris back from saying the very not-nice things she usually does whenever she-who-must-not-be-named is mentioned. And the oven, right, that reminds her– “You never answered my question, you know,” she says, debating whether to steal the spoon from the mostly empty bowl that must’ve held the batter and lick it clean, just to see what it is Barry could possibly be making. That he even knows _how_ to bake. 

 "Oh, uh,” Barry fumbles for the knob on the oven to turn it off, throwing an uncharacteristically sheepish smile over his shoulder at her as he slips on an oven mitt near the stove. “Well, as soon as I heard you were getting picked up early I figured it was bad news, and that you’d be upset, so I, um, sort of made you brownies? You know, to cheer you up. Hopefully.”

“You made me brownies?” Iris echoes, just as Barry’s pulling the baking sheet out of the oven, and sure enough, there are brownies–super chocolate-y, delicious looking brownies. She kind of wants to cry.

“Yeah, I got the recipe from Joe. They’re your favorite.” He places the brownie tray down on the counter next to all the baking supplies and positively beams at her, and it’s so damn _sweet_. She feels something fluttery in her chest as she returns his smile, probably the first real smile she’s given tonight. She should maybe think about that more, should maybe investigate that further, but…

For now, _brownies._

“I hope they came out okay, I followed Joe’s instructions exactly, but–”

“Barry,” she cuts him off with a hug, squeezing him tight and smiling even wider when she feels him respond, arms wrapping around her, warm and familiar. “I’m sure they’re great, and even if they weren’t, that wouldn’t matter. I’d still be thankful. So, thanks. You’re the best.”

“It was no problem,” he says, and with the smile still in his voice, the warmth behind the words, she actually believes it.


	48. i'm ready for this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off season 3 spoiler pics of Barry being ridiculously excited to hold Iris's hand

His heart is thundering in his chest, so loud he’s having a hard time focusing. Which is not good, not good at all, because he desperately needs to go over The Plan again. The Plan–which is so far going…well, as planned. Iris loved the flowers. Or at least he thinks she did. 

After all, Iris can’t really lie to save her life, and that hug was definitely genuine. She’d even gotten all teary-eyed when she’d seen the surprise waiting outside for her after work. Which normally he’d consider a sure sign that The Plan was tanking, because he has meticulously catalogued every detail of how he hopes this night is going to go, and if there’s one thing on the top of his list it’s that generally, Iris + crying = bad. Except in this case, he’s pretty confident that they were tears of happiness, because he _knows_ Iris, and he can tell. (Also, it doesn’t hurt that she told him that’s exactly what they were, too.)

He’s struggling to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, attempting to go over the directions again in his head to make sure he’s not leading them in the wrong direction and getting pathetically distracted by the smell of her perfume, when he feels a sudden pressure on his hand as she intertwines her fingers with his. It’s so familiar, the feeling, and yet so different all at once. Because sure, they’ve held hands before, but not like this, not when it meant something, and just like that all coherent thought comes screeching to a halt.

“So, where are we going?” Iris asks, completely casual, like she hasn’t just short-circuited Barry’s brain. He can hear the tentative smile in her voice and honestly regrets having to miss it but he’s stuck staring at their hands, eyes wide and dazed as he commits every detail of their interlocked fingers to memory, from the sight to the feel of Iris’s palm against his. Her skin is soft, just a bit calloused at the fingertips, and slightly damp—the only indication that she’s at least a little nervous about this, too. It’s a comforting thought.

“Barry…?” Iris says, voice heavy with concern, as the silence drags on and he still hasn’t responded. “You okay?”

He opens his mouth and finds that he’s having trouble forming any coherent thought, so instead he just _beams_ and points excitedly to their hands, where Iris’s is still wrapped around his. He keeps smiling down at the place where they connect like an idiot, his cheeks starting to hurt with the force of it, but he can’t help it. Iris West is holding his hand. Like, _romantically_. He feels Iris’s fingers twitch against his own, and when he finally looks up to meet her gaze she’s beaming back at him, obviously catching on.

“You are such a dork,” Iris laughs, and the only thing Barry can think of that could possibly be better than the sight of her hand in his is the affectionate smile that stretches across her face and the laughter that lights up her eyes. He can admit that he cheats a little bit and uses his speed to prolong the moment, to take a nice, long look at her face without taking too long to stare, before the world speeds up to regular time again. He’s never been more grateful for his powers, really; he has a feeling he’s going to be using this particular trick a lot tonight.

He returns her smile with a shrug, because he can’t help that it’s true. Once he finally manages to tear his gaze away, he feels Iris’s fingers squeeze around his, a comforting pressure, and he feels all his lingering nerves about the evening fade away with her touch. He can do this. He _can_. This is _Iris_ , this is his best friend. He can totally keep his cool.

That is until Iris digs her elbow playfully into his side and says, “If you’re that excited by us holding hands, just wait until later tonight.”

Barry barely has time to process that before he’s tripping over his feet and falling flat on his face.


	49. Ice-Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: westallen + icecream

“Babe…I think you’ve got a little something…um.”

“What?” Barry blinks at her, the perfect picture of innocence, completely oblivious to the ice cream that’s somehow missed his mouth, smeared right at the corner like poorly applied lipstick. 

“You’ve got ice cream on your face,” she says with a smile, popping another spoonful of her own mint chocolate chip two-scoop in her mouth. In a cup, thank-you-very-much, because she’s got enough foresight to know that ordering a cone in this heat is just asking for trouble. And sure enough, it’s only been two minutes since they’ve sat down to eat and Barry’s triple-cone is already all over the place. Including his face, apparently.

“Oh,” Barry says, poking his tongue out and sweeping it this way and that, so that when he speaks again his voice is all muffled, making something warm and fond unfurl in her chest. “Di’ I ge’ it?”

“No,” Iris laughs, reaching over to wipe it off for him. Halfway through she pauses, changing course, and decides that if they’re on a date she’s damn well going to take advantage of it, and instead leans across the table to capture his lips with her own. She swipes her tongue to the corner of his mouth, tasting the strawberry and chocolate combo he’s so fond of, and gives him just enough time to recuperate and respond before pulling away, laughing again at the little noise of loss he makes. 

His eyes are wide and bright at always, looking dazed as he stares back at her in wonder, a dopey smile stretching across his face. “Did _you_ get it?”

“Yep,” she says, grinning smugly, settling back into her seat. She’s about to take another bite of her ice-cream when suddenly there’s a whoosh and then something cold and wet on her cheek, and she looks sideways to find that Barry’s stolen the spoon right out of her hand and smeared it sloppily against her face, from her cheek down to her lips. 

“Oops,” he says with a grin of his own, looking entirely unapologetic, “Looks like you’ve got something on your face too.”

“Better get it for me–” Iris starts to say, but before she can finish her mouth is suddenly occupied. The weather is secondary on her mind right now with a different kind of heat taking precedence. After all, ice-cream is oh-so-much sweeter when it’s shared. 


	50. Supposed to be Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I don’t have the words right now so here’s a kiss"

Superheroes are supposed to be brave. Barry knows this. He’s been been this business for years, of course he knows this. He’s never really been afraid to stare death in the face, anyway.

And yet.

He watches Iris smile at him from across the dinner table, the bustling sounds from the restuarant they’re in falling far, far away, and he’s the biggest goddamn coward he knows. At least as far as this one, insurmountable, terrifying thing goes. Which is funny, because Iris is usually the one who makes him feel brave. 

But looking at her now, beautiful as ever, eyes bright and gesturing around in excitement with her fork as she talks about the new article she’s working on, he feels anything but. Just small, and anxious, and hopeful, and so, so scared.

“Iris…” he says, as soon as her story comes to a close, and suddenly he finds it’s near-impossible to swallow. His hand slips into his pants pocket, his chest tightening when he finds the small metal object he’s looking for, that he deliberately slipped in there earlier, steeling himself for this moment. Like he’s been doing every day for the past two weeks, ever since he made up his mind about this, but just…hasn’t found the right moment. 

Right. Because that’s the reason. 

“Yeah?”

Her smile is innocent, completely unaware of the way Barry’s insides are suddenly squirming, his palms sweating with nerves. He looks at her, opens his mouth, and feels like he might choke on all the things fighting to get to the tip of his tongue.

He wants to say “I want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

He wants to say “I love you, I’ve always loved you, I’ll never stop loving you.“

He wants to say “Marry me.”

He doesn’t.

“Barry?” Iris says, a little crease forming between her eyebrows as she eyes him in concern. It’s only then that he realizes he’s been staring. “Is everything alright?”

His fingers tighten around the ring tucked safely inside his pocket, and then let go. Not yet, he tells himself. Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll be braver. Instead, without anything else to say other than the words he’s can’t quite get out yet, he closes his mouth, leans across the table, and kisses her.

And for a second, with her mouth against his, her lips curling up in a surprised little smile, he feels invincible again, like he can do anything, say anything, and his fingers bump up against the ring in his pocket again, and–and–

Iris pulls away, and Barry blinks, the feeling gone in an instant, the familiar rush of panic and self-doubt and  _oh-god-what-if_  making his skin feel too-hot, the room feeling much stuffier than before. He pulls his hand out of his pocket like he’s been burned. 

“You’re getting ketchup on your tie,” Iris laughs, and sure enough, when Barry looks down, the tie is laying right in his plate, looking about as pathetic as he feels. Before he can slump back in his seat, Iris is reaching over with her napkin to wipe it away, and Barry resists the urge to hide his face in his hands. 

Tomorrow. He’ll ask her tomorrow. 


	51. Teasing Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Teasing kisses on every bit of visible skin + Hungry kisses on every bit of newly visible skin as clothing is slowly peeled away

“Iris– fuck– can you– get this damn thing–  _off,_ ” Barry huffed, and Iris crossed her arms, watching him struggle in amusement.

“Get what off, Barry?” she asked innocently, grinning all the wider as he swore in frustration. She was sure that if she could actually see his face, it’d be bright red.

“Iris. Come on– please just– it’s _stuck_.”

“What do you mean, it’s stuck?”

“I mean, like– you can fucking see what I mean, Iris! I can’t get this damn thing over my head. Just stop teasing me and help. Please.”

“Huh,” Iris said, bitng back a laugh as Barry flapped his arms in her direction, the suit partway pulled over his head. In his haste to get it off, it must’ve gotten stuck on something, somehow, because Barry was quite hilariously trapped. She snickered and snapped a quick photo before tossing her phone back on the nightstand. Oh, she was never going to let him here the end of this. _Central City’s beloved Flash, defeated by his own supersuit! Read al albout it!_ “Now that you mention it, you do look like you’ve got a bit of a problem there.” 

“Shut up,” Barry mumbled, squirming uselessly, attempting to wriggle his arm of the suit and out of the uncomfortable position of having his arms stuck halfway over his head with it. “This is your fault, you know.”

“ _My_ fault?” Iris said incredulously, taking a step back, suddenly abandoning her plan to just take pity on her boyfriend and put him out of his misery.

“Yeah, you told me to get back asap or you were gonna start without me and then you got me all excited and I was rushing home from patrol and–” he breaks off with a huff, making some vague motion with his head to indicate his predicament. Iris rolled her eyes, silently lamenting the fact that he couldn’t see the gesture.

“Oh, well I’m so terribly sorry you got stuck while trying to speed out of your suit without removing it properly. I _clearly_ made you do that.”

“You did,” Barry whined, pointing a finger at a spot no where near where Iris was standing. “You were already in bed and looking like that– well I can’t see you now but you know what I mean– and I just got a little too…excited.”

“It’s not that hard to get you excited, Barr,” Iris said with a laugh, sensing the glare he was giving her through the suit. “Oh don’t look at me like that– yes I can tell you’re looking at me like that, Barry– you know I’m not complaining.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. Just help me get out of this thing, okay?”

“Actually…” Iris said, slowly inching forward until she was right up in his space, lips curling into a devious smile. “I think I have a better idea.”

“What– what are you– Iris _what are you doing?”_

Iris pushed him back onto the bed in lieu of a response, laughing at the ridiculous sight he made– bare-chested, with the top of his suit pulled halfway over his head, arms stuck awkwardly in the air, pants still on. She’d have to fix that problem later, but first–

“I- _riiiiis_ ,” Barry whined as she trailed her fingers down his side, leaning over him to trail teasing kisses across his bare chest, working her way up and smiling into his skin, feeling warm with the feeling of his hearbeat thrumming beneath her lips. “Iris, come on, not fair, I can’t even touch you– I can barely move my arms right now.”

Iris hummed in acknowledgement as she placed a kiss on his shoulderblade, but made no move to actually help him. 

“You’re the wo-orst,” Barry said, his voice cracking as Iris dragged her teeth lightly down his chest, just enough pressure to make his skin buzz, his body giving a shuddery little vibration, but not enough to really hurt.

“Iris, _please_ ,” he begged, squirming underneath her, “help me out of this thing.”

“Oh, I will,” Iris smirked, placing a kiss just beneath his belly button. She had every intention of getting him out of the suit– she was just going to take her sweet time with it. “But pants first.”


	52. Impromptu Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: " things we did/talked about before we got married"

It’s quiet in their apartment. Iris is floating around that place of being comfortably half-asleep-half-awake, where the hummingbird heartbeat under her ear is real as ever as is the arms around her shoulders and holding her close, but they’re just pleasant enough that they could easily follow her into her dreams.

She hears Barry’s voice, but she’s far enough into almost-sleep that it’s just muffled enough she doesn’t quite register what he’s saying at first. She shifts a little so that her ear isn’t pressed right up against his chest and she can hear better, and forces herself to focus.

“I don’t want to wait another three months,” he says, or repeats, she’s not sure. It doesn’t matter, because she hears it this time. Iris isn’t even sure if he knows she’s still (barely) awake or not, but he rambles on, and Iris forces herself to wake up, to listen just a little bit closer. “I could literally run us to Vegas right now. Or anywhere where they give marriage certificates on the spot, I don’t know– we could look it up, uh–”

“Alright,” Iris says sleepily, pushing herself up a bit so that her elbow’s propped up against his side. She would blame the impulsiveness on her sleep-addled brain, but in reality she knows this is something she’s thought about quite a bit, too. Something warm and pleasant buzzes under her skin, waking her up a little bit more, at the thought. Three months is an awfully long time, after all. A lifetime, she knows, for a speedster.

Barry pauses, and she feels him tense underneath her, before relaxing back into her touch. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to actually be listening. But judging by the tone of his voice, he’s pleasantly surprised that she is. “Oh. Uh. Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, dropping her head back onto his chest, smiling into his skin. “Let’s do it. Let’s get married. We can still have the ceremony and stuff later like we were planning to. I mean, we’ll kind of have to, or my dad’ll kill us both.”

“Mmm,” Barry agrees, running a hand lazily up and down up her back. “It’d be a shame to die so soon after getting married. So we’ll just have to get married twice. We can get married now and then we can pretend to get married in three months again and–”

“I think you just like saying the word ‘married,’” Iris laughs, letting her chin rest on his chest and reaching up to poke his cheek, her eyes slowly adjusting to his smile in the dark. 

“Can you blame me?” he says, not bothering to deny it. And…no, she really can’t. It’s _exciting_. They deserve this. Really, all things considered, two weddings isn’t nearly enough. 

“No,” she skoots up a bit so she can place a kiss sloppily on his chin. Before he can dip his head down to meet her, before they can get any further distracted, before she can change her mind, she flops over, and swings her legs over the side of the bed, her heart hammering in her chest in excitement. “Come on, you big dork. Let’s go get married.”

* * *

“You know, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding. Or so I’m told,” Iris teases, unable to hold back her smile as she hears the door creak open slowly, and sees Barry not-so-discreetly poke his head into her changing room in the reflection of the mirror she’s currently staring into. 

“Yeah, but we’re already married. I’m pretty sure that rule doesn’t apply to us,” Barry laughs, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. They smile at their reflection, just soaking it in, before she twists around in his arms to face him.

“You look beautiful,” he says, voice impossibly soft, and she’s not surprised to see the slight sheen of tears in his eyes. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replies, beaming, and reaches up to straighten his bow-tie. “You ready for this?”

“Oh, please. We’re practically pros at this point.”

“True, but the honeymoon will be a nice touch.”

Barry hums in agreement, holding her closer, and it’s almost as perfect as when they’d said ‘I do’ that first time, buzzing with anticipation at such a big, wonderful secret all their own. 

She’s content to just stay their in his arms for a moment, hugging him back, until she figures it’s probably past time she voice the thought she’s sure must be on his mind too.

So…are we ever gonna tell them?”

Barry pulls back a bit to study her face, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She knows what his answer will be before he says it – this is something all theirs, after all. “Nah,” he says, stealing a quick kiss. “No need.”

She hears a commotion outside her door, muffled, but there – Linda’s voice, or maybe’s Caitlin’s – and he winks at her before zipping away, phasing through the wall into his own changing room.

It turns out it’s Linda _and_ Caitlin, and she smiles at them as they enter the room, her heart full and her skin practically glowing, more than ready to do this again. 


	53. Reigning in the New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for the prompt: "fell asleep on each other before midnight and now it’s the new year"

Iris is just beginning to contemplate whether or not she should be worried, her feet kicked up against the coffee table and a half-empty wine glass in her hand, when she hears the knock at the door. She sighs in relief, tension she hadn’t even realized was there draining from her shoulders, and carefully sets the wine glass on the table before her, tip-toeing carefully through the living room and to the front door. 

Barry is already mid-knock again by the time she gets it open, his hand raised in a fist halfway in the air in front of him, swaying dangerously on his feet as he blinks down at her. He lets his arm fall back to his side, grinning lazily and giving her a swift kiss on the cheek as he pushes past her into the house, his feet dragging a little more than usual.

“Barry,” she sighs, shaking her head fondly as she watches him make his way to the living room and collapse face-first onto the couch. “Did you seriously forget your key again?”

“Don’t usually need it,” he mumbles, sounding defensive, rolling over onto his back with what looks like great effort and shifting a little to make room for her. “I usually just phase through.”

“Mmm, why didn’t you?” she asks, settling herself comfortably on top of him, tugging the cowl down from his head. She brushes a thumb across the bags underneath his eyes, fairly confident she already knows the answer.

“Too tired,” he confirms, trying and failing to squirm out of his suit. “You’d be amazed how much stupid shit people do to reign in the new year. Actually, you probably wouldn’t. Can you help me with this? I’m so exhausted I can barely move.”

Iris rolls her eyes and bats Barry’s clumsy hands away, getting to work undoing the clasps of his suit and helping him shimmy out of it. She keeps the bottom half on, mostly because she’s comfy and Barry’s warm and that part of him is currently trapped underneath her, and she really doesn’t feel like moving. “Babe, please, I’m sure you’ve probably done plenty of the stupid shit you’re referring too at some point or another.”

“Iris, I literally had to rescue five different people from blowing themselves up with home-bought fireworks. Five!”

Iris raises an eyebrow at him, entirely unimpressed. “Do you not remember your senior year of college? Because I distinctly–”

“ _Okay,_ okay,” he covers her mouth with his hand, his cheeks going pink. “Point. But you swore you would never speak of that again.”

He pulls his hand away with a yelp when she bites him, glaring at her without much heat. “Hmm, you’re no fun. Besides, the Flash shouldn’t be complaining about being so exhausted. I told that guy he should take a break for the holidays and spend some more time with his wonderful wife.”

“So you did,” Barry sighs. “That guy’s an idiot. Should’ve listened to his wife, she’s always right.”

“That’s enough grovelling for tonight, I think,” Iris laughs, patting his cheek. “Besides, it’s not midnight yet. You managed to get yourself home before then, so we’ve still got time to have a little new year’s celebration of our own.”

“Well then we should definitely make the most of it.” Barry grins at her, and when she kisses him he doesn’t hold back. He pulls away first, already a little short for breath, and presses their foreheads together. “Are the twins asleep?” 

Iris huffs, rearranging her legs so that they’re perfectly tangled with his and pulling back a little to level him with her best reproachful look. “Of course they are. Because I, unlike you, am a responsible parent who doesn’t let small children stay up past their bedtime.

“Hey, I’m responsible,” Barry pouts, but he does’t try to argue further, because he knows full well that he’s got a bit of a weak spot when it comes to those things. He tries to lift his head off the backrest, but it ends up being too much effort, and he slumps back into the cushions with a lazy sigh.

“Sure you are,” Iris hums, laying back down to rest her cheek against his chest, feeling warm and content with the steady beat of his heart under her ear. “Now, are we going to get back to what we were doing or…?”

“In a minute,” Barry sighs, and Iris peeks up at him to find that his eyes have fallen shut, a content, sleepy little smile on his lips. “This is nice. And I’m really tired. Just wanna…rest my eyes for a bit. And enjoy this. ‘S nice.”

His breath evens out fairly quickly, and Iris stifles a laugh at how easy it is for him to fall right asleep when he’s tired like this. She’s lost count of the strange places she’s found him passed-out sleeping, practically dead to the world. She smiles and closes her eyes, allowing the busy week and holiday rush to finally catch up to her, and suddenly she feels pretty sleepy herself. Barry’s hand snakes lazily around her back, holding her in place as he dozes, and she lets herself melt into him, using his warmth as a blanket. Barry’s got the right idea – it can’t hurt to rest her eyes for…just a few minutes…

* * *

“Oh my God,” is the first thing Barry says when he wakes up to the birds chirping and light pouring through the windows the next morning, his joints aching and stiff from falling asleep on the couch. Iris’s bony elbows are digging into his chest, and he figures she must’ve moved around at some point during the night. “We’re getting _old._ ”

Iris doesn’t bother lifting her head, but he can tell from the way she’s breathing that she’s awake, too. That, and she pinches him. “Shut up,” she grumbles, sounding just as tired and muzzy as Barry feels. “You might be old, but I’m not.”

“Iris, we’re the same age,” Barry laughs, and then grimaces, because Iris’s bony elbows are now purposefully digging harder into his chest. “We couldn’t even make it to midnight.”

“Hey, there’s always next year,” Iris consoles him, rolling over with a groan and pushing herself off the couch and to her feet on shaky legs. She pats him on the shoulder before making her way to the stairs to wake the twins up. “Besides, we’re busy people. And we technically we still brought this one in together. We just…weren’t conscious…”

“True,” Barry concedes, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and swinging his legs over the side of the couch. “Where are you going? Don’t I get a New Years kiss? Since we missed it?”

“Not until you’ve made us breakfast!” Iris calls over her shoulder, obviously trying to sound more stern than teasing, but he can hear the smile in her voice.


	54. A Pleasant Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I thought you were someone else but I’m still glad I kissed you"

She is so not letting Linda set her up on a blind date again. Not even if she’s desperate for as desperate for a date next year as she’d been tonight for Central’s annual New Years Eve party. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Linda dragging her away from her desk and insisting she come, and not to worry about bringing anyway, because she’d handle it for her.  And now Linda is nowhere to be found, and Iris’s date won’t stop talking (about himself, jesus christ, he’s not even half as interesting as he thinks he is), and Iris is hoping with all her might that tonight isn’t some sort of omen for how her new year is going to turn out. 

So yeah, she thinks, taking another sip from her champagne and marvelling at the fact that even being pleasantly tipsy isn’t making her date any less unpleasant. It’s all Linda’s fault. 

“Mm-hm,” Iris says, nodding along to whatever Steve has just said, because he’s looking at her as though expecting an answer, and she figures he must’ve been asking a question or something. Unfortunately, she’d mentally checked out of the conversation less than an hour after they’d gotten here. Apparently, her nod and mumble doesn’t seem to satisfy Steve this time, and for what must be the first time tonight, he actually stops talking. “What?” she finally asks, mumbling it into her drink as he stares her down.

“I asked if and where you wanted to move, since we won’t really have a good view here for when they set off the fireworks. Most people are heading out to the balcony.”

“Already?” Iris asks, suprised, although a moment later she realizes she really shouldn’t be. It’s felt like an eternity since she’s been here, listening (or, rather, not listening) to Steve talk.

“It’s 11:58,” Steve says, looking at her strangely, and she supposes she can’t blame him. Now that he mentions it, the area around them is suspiciously empty, and she wonders how she could’ve possibly noticed how quiet it’s gotten, the conversation a muted rumble as people whisper excitedly to the people around them.

“Well then,” Iris says, brushing past Steve and making her way to the balcony. She doesn’t bother to look behind her to see if he’s following. “Let’s go out, then.”

It turns out everyone really does seem to have the same idea, and soon enough she’s lost in a sea of people. She notices the spikey hair of Linda’s latest hairstyle a little further away, and contemplates whether to chew her out now, but then again her friend seems pretty preoccupied with Wally right now (which, eww), and she so does not feel like dealing with that. It’s not until she hears the crowd around her buzz with noise that she’s torn out of her thoughts, and realizes the countdown has begun. By the time she’s tuned back into the world the chant is already at “two,” and Iris thinks _fuck it._ Steve might be absolutely insufferable, but she’s already had to put up with him all night, so she’s at least going to get some action. She spins around to where she assumes he’s waiting right behind her, closes her eyes, and grabs his tie to pull his face down to meet hers. He makes a startled little noise at first, but he catches her as she balances on her heels and leans her weight forward, and then he’s kissing her back.

It’s definitely the right decision, because wow, Steve can kiss. Of course, she figures if he can talk so much, it makes sense that he’s so talented with his mouth in other areas, too. Distantly, she can hear fireworks booming, and people cheering, but her mind his buzzing (for the first time tonight, all with pleasant thoughts), and she feels warm down to her toes despite the cold now-January air. She has to wrap her arms around Steve’s neck and pull herself up a little more to kiss him back appropriately, and for the first time since they started this it occurs to her to wonder when Steve got so tall, and if his hair had really been that short just a few minutes ago, and – 

She pulls back with a gasp, blinking up at a guy who – is definitely not Steve. He blinks back at her, abruptly dropping his arms from where they’ve come up to wrap around her waist, and says, “Um.”

Iris stares at him for a long moment before answering, the light from the fireworks dancing in his eyes, lighting up the pretty pink blush in his cheeks. The smile he gives her is soft and sheepish, his lips red and swollen (from her, she realizes with a funny little thrill). He is…rather attractive, really. And apparently a fantastic kisser. “Sorry,” she says, extracting herself and taking a step back. “I, uh, thought you were someone else.”

“Oh,” he says, his face falling, and Iris feels absurdly guilty for taking his smile away. “Okay, well, Happy New Year then. I’ll just –”

“Wait!” She catches his wrist before he can scurry away, and steps closer again. She pretends that the fact that it’s cold outside is her excuse. “Are you here with anyone?”

“I mean, my friends, but not – not anyone like…not _with_ anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is exactly what I mean,” Iris says, rewarding him with a smile of her own. “I wasn’t actually…well, I’m actually pretty relieved to get rid of the guy I was with.”

“Really?” cute guy says, smiling tentatively back, and Iris realizes she already wants to kiss him again. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve just met you, and I already like you better.” He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck as she says this, but she can tell he’s smiling again. “I’m Iris West, by the way. Happy New Year, and all that jazz.”

“Barry Allen. Uh, it’s nice to meet you, Iris. Happy New Year. Which…I already said but – you know. I hope it’s a happy one, for you,” he says, and bless his soul, actually holds out a hand as if he means to shake hers. She bites back a laugh and takes his hand, but instead of shaking it she threads her fingers through his, grinning at the startled look he gives her. 

“Nice to meet you, Barry Allen. Wanna get out of here?”

Barry stares at their joined hands in awe, and then up at Iris, but as soon as he meets her gaze his shock dissolves in excitement. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing her hand, gesturing for her to lead the way with a smile that’s almost blindingly bright. “I’d love to.”


End file.
